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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350948">Beside the Words You Read To Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackallackattack/pseuds/mackallackattack'>mackallackattack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>After Blood and Wine, Blood Drinking, Dettlaff and dandelion don’t hate each other, Digital Art, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff everywhere, Human/Vampire Relationship, I cracked there’s already smut and uhhhhhhn, Mentor/Protégé, Oxenfurt Academy (The Witcher), Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Slow Burn, Vampire Sex, aloof in all of his glory, and then you know how i do, autumn baby, begrudging dettlaff, dadlaff, dettlaff is an onion all these layers, dettlaff meets the parents, dettlaff van der eretein is a dad, eventually, he's very surly in this one, i may or may not just be a dadlaff writer turns out, like a lot of smut, listen dettlaff can have monster sex look at him, little does she know, third person, vampire, who lives in a cabin out in the woods, woodworking sculptor dettlaff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:42:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>55,245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackallackattack/pseuds/mackallackattack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1279. An Oxenfurt Grad student is hoping to enter her Masters Program, but an untimely death leaves her in desperate need of a woodcarving mentor. Luckily, Dandelion (returning Lecturer) may or may not know of a guy.</p><p>However uncertain he is about it.</p><p> </p><p>"He never remembered to give himself something to do while she slept on him save for one occasion, and he found that he ended up watching her sleep all the same besides. Watching her breathe and twitch. Sometimes her lips puckered and moved, or her brow creased. The fingers of her hand would curl around his shirt in a tight grasp then release, in the off chance he was wearing it. Always at the moment she fell asleep, her leg would twitch violently and her knee would threaten to burden his manhood. If anyone tried to harm her, he would kill them."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dettlaff van der Eretein/Original Female Character(s), Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Bard by Any Other Name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a post-Blood and Wine, Dettlaff x OC slow burn. It's written in third person and I'm working on it alongside another fic of mine. I know the only way I will be able to write a slow burn is if I have another facet where intimacy occurs. There will be sex in this, of course, but eventually. I said eventually! Don't push me, you know that I'm weak!<br/>I have about four chapters written so far and will be updating both fics once per week/every two weeks. :)</p><p>The OC's name is pronounced as Dandelion pronounces it, but for you to get comfortable, it is 'Ee-stets-Ee-mehn'. The n is barely noticed. In this I just called a step beyond grad school a masters program because who knows why; it is not reflective of university in the US.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Isteţime Eira reaches The University at Oxenfurt and immediately meets with her new guidance counselor, a bard with a gold nameplate.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p><br/>Oxenfurt Academy stood walled on a small island, connected to the greater city of its own island by way of a narrow, brick bridge. A woman named Isteţime Eira Stelhet found it every year on foot by the same route. Her formative years were spent in the very place she was born: a grim, dreary village located in Velen, wherein the howling of wild dogs lulled her to sleep often as any nursery rhyme of her mother’s. More recently, however, she moved to a milder country, on the outskirts of the city Novigrad, where she traded hours of spinning yarn for room and board. It was not terribly far from the University she attended most of the year, but in the cramped heat of summer, Isteţime came to miss the place she would most equate to home. </p><p>So, it was at the turn of the year’s tide - when summer had longed to fully wane and autumn began to wax, that she once more found herself bundled by her wide, aubergine dyed scarf on the steep cliffside of the Pontar. The wind had tinted both her ears and nose pink from the journey, and she sniffled. It was brisk, and in her short, thick, slicked back silver hair, her fingers found many of the surrounding trees’ first colorful pilots. </p><p>The shuffling on the large bridge into the city had been rather tedious and uneventful. This was not something that Isteţime nor any other student of the Academy would complain about - not after the witch hunts. A backwards glance was not spared as she stepped lightly into the streets, now busied with the faces of fellow learners. </p><p>Isteţime was a lank woman and although considered by many as colloquially attractive, was androgynous to the point that just as many would at first glance mistake her for a young man or boy of some years. The appreciative onlookers had only <em> thought </em> themselves unnoticed by her as she made her way across the second bridge into the University. She stared at the paper in her hand. The personalized itinerary was straightforward. It was also a new feature for her, as it was her final year of Graduate School, en route to continuing into the Academy’s prestigious Master’s program. She was surprised it had even arrived by the post in time. Hell, she was surprised that it arrived at all. The first showed up in the mail five days prior, and then a peculiar second just yesterday. Turning the parchment over, Isteţime scanned the newer version more than once. The walls of the entry courtyard shielded the wind and for the first time, she felt the clear, autumnal sun warm her rosied features. The second itinerary had one, singular amendment to it.</p><p>“Dandelion?” Had she ever met him before? Isteţime thought the name sounded familiar to her. The writing clearly indicated to visit him in the Seven Liberal Arts S. Clemen’s Hall, Office 2. Her hazel green eyes widened. “Office <em> two </em>?!”</p><p>A blonde man who had been observing her barked laughter from a mere two feet away. Isteţime just gripped her itinerary and made her way to the second office of S. Clemen’s Hall.</p><p> </p><p>She sat in the sunny, window lined hallway, observing the gold name plate on the door that read <em> Julian Alfred Pankratz, </em> as if it would turn into a man named Dandelion the harder her eyes peered into it. It had to have at least been an hour. </p><p>Gathering her long legs up on the bench, thankful that it wasn’t sectioned, she sat sidewards and took in the view of the river. A Wyvern was circling above a gustfield on the eastern bank of the Pontar. The wheat shimmered to and fro in the breeze in a way that made Isteţime pull her shawl tighter with a shiver, and at the same time, the beauty of it excited her. </p><p>The clacking of heeled shoes brought the pearl haired woman out of her new daydream. A middle aged man dressed in cerulean and berry hued pantaloons, as well as a pink silk poet’s cap, was finagling his keys in front of the door whose gold name plate had her interest for the better portion of the hour. Hurriedly, she stood, and trotted over to him. </p><p>The man jumped, before finding his composure, and as the door latch clicked open, he straightened himself. In fact, to Isteţime it seemed like he continued to try straightening himself well after he’d been fully straightened - she assumed he, like many others, was taken aback by her height, though she fell short of six feet by an inch. </p><p>She stared down at him, then to her itinerary for the fiftieth time <em> just in case </em>, “I take it you’re Julian Alfred Pankratz?”</p><p>“Please, call me Dandelion.” He smiled broadly, and opened the door so that his arm extended partway into it for her to follow. She nodded, and soon found herself in a comfortable velvet chair facing an aged, yet good natured and handsomely carved wooden desk. When Dandelion sat at it, she thought him very much like his furniture. </p><p>“So,” he clapped his hands, opening the top desk drawer and grabbing what she assumed were her files, “you must be…” he squinted at the fine print it, “eastetsymeh?”</p><p>She was surprised at how well he actually pronounced it. </p><p>“Please,” Isteţime smiled, “call me Eira.” </p><p>He cocked his head, looking delighted, and Isteţime decided that she liked this man. </p><p>“Eye-da?” Dandelion mimicked her name, and she returned his smile. </p><p>“You must be a poet or a bard, then. If you can pronounce names with such ease,” she tucked a piece of her silver hair back behind her ear after running her fingers through the top of it. The bard nodded, momentarily dumbstruck by <em> something </em> while looking at her. It was very uncomfortable, and she looked out the window that viewed the courtyard. “It smells like apples and cinnamon in here. It’s good.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, well,” Dandelion shuffled his papers once more, “it <em> is </em> good. I like my rooms to smell pleasant and in season, point of fact.” </p><p>Isteţime dared to look back at him, and was thankful to see that he was no longer addressing her, but her file.</p><p>“I <em> am </em> a bard and poet, by the way,” he added. She recognized now that the richness of his mellifluous boom was <em> also </em> that of an entertainer.</p><p>...a good one. </p><p>“You may have heard some of my work before,” he smiled, “familiar at all with the ballad, The Lion Cub of Cintra?”</p><p>Isteţime had to stop herself from gasping, and instead clapped her hand to her laughter. </p><p>“I most <em> certainly </em> have,” her smile was beaming, however short lived. The bard watched as her brows tensed nearer the other. She had been waiting by the office for some time. “Dandelion, can you explain to me why my itinerary instructed me to meet with you?”</p><p>“I’m working as a lecturer, now.” He smiled, “I also, however, am a mentor for the top performing students entering graduate and masters programs. Anyone who is in the running to earn their respective degrees with <em> summa cum laude </em> honors.” His smile grew wider, “As I once did.”</p><p>“I’m in the running for that?” She asked, then shrugged. When she thought about it, all she did in life were things that worked towards it. The bard smiled so hugely when he confirmed that she was, absolutely, up for the same honors as someone renowned as himself. Immediately after doing so, however, it was <em> his </em> face that fell <em> immensely, </em> and an almost childish groan came out of him.</p><p>“Isteţi- <em> Eira, </em>I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your master sculptor...well,” his eyes got wide, “well, he up and croaked. Dead as a doornail.” </p><p>“Yustef <em>died?”</em> <em>He </em>was<em> very old,</em> she acknowledged, readjusting in her seat. </p><p>“Yes, dee-ee-ay-dee <em>dead</em>, and it gets worse.”</p><p>“Gets worse than <em> death?” </em></p><p>“Yes, much worse.”</p><p>“How?” Isteţime wondered if this man was completely sane. </p><p>The aging bard named Dandelion looked down at her papers, “Your aim is to join the Masters Program for sculpting and woodworking, is it not?”</p><p>“Oh <em> shit </em>,” she groaned.</p><p>“Oh <em> shit </em> is right.” Dandelion nodded, the curse words sounding like they’d gathered new life and meaning on his animated tongue. It was bizarre.</p><p>He <em> was </em> sane, Isteţime confirmed to herself, because to her, this <em> was </em> worse than death. It had taken three years to be approved by the crotchety old man, let alone <em> reserve him as mentor for the remainder of her education. </em></p><p>“I’ve been working towards this goal for <em> ten years, </em> sir Dandelion,” she felt her composure weakening by the second. She’d always known herself to be a monumental cryer. </p><p>“Ten <em> years? </em> Why not seven? <em> ” </em></p><p>“The witch hunts stopped me being able to attend for a while.”</p><p>“<em> Witch hunts? </em> Why, that was in <em> seventy-two </em> !” Dandelion’s face scrunched up as he assessed her, “so how old <em> are you, </em> then? Forty?”</p><p>“I’m twenty-<em> nine, </em> thank you.” </p><p>He ballooned his mouth around his tightly pressed lips in a manner Isteţime did not appreciate. “About as old as I am.”</p><p>“Excuse me? Sir, you have <em> got </em> to be fifty.” </p><p>“Forty-<em> nine, </em> if you must know.” He frowned, “So you’re not actually just forty and part elf?”</p><p>“That seems an <em> odd </em> question, mister Dandelion,” she heard her own voice get sharp.</p><p>He held up his hands, “fair enough.” </p><p>Isteţime cocked her silvery head, looking at him in appreciation for being up front and honest about his nearing come-on, then <em> respectful </em> by abandoning. The bard was alright. </p><p>“Now, Eira, have you thought about any other schools? The Academy has <em> numerous </em> masters of arts in other disciplines who would be <em> more </em> than happy to take you on as an apprentice, considering your performance as a student.”</p><p>“Absolutely not. My father was a sculptor, and a damned good one,” she felt herself wanting to cry again, and swallowed. She couldn’t continue, but all she knew or had of him was his work. When she was creating works of her own, it felt like she was speaking his language- close to him, close to the most peaceful and happy time in her life. It made her truly purposed, and that content put her at ease. </p><p>Dandelion was now looking at the stoic woman with a certain reverence he hadn’t moments before. He nodded his head tersely, almost sadly. </p><p>“Well, Eira, you’ll need a Master Sculptor to sponsor you through this year, through the master program, should you be accepted, and it is required they accompany you to Kaer Trolde this winter post Holiday.”</p><p>“Kaer Trolde?!” Isteţime smacked her forehead. She’d forgotten about that goddamn prerequisite. “Why is getting a degree reflective of my skill set so arduously hoity toity?”</p><p>“Come now, Eira, it isn’t that bad.” The bard shrugged, “though I<em> did </em> have to perform as a <em> common </em> fool in the streets for an entire semester. That was utterly humiliating.”</p><p>Isteţime still had her hand over her forehead, staring at the ceiling. The bard watched her trachea move when she offered a husky and sarcastic condolence, “I’m sure it was. You’ve probably been <em> proper </em> fool material for ages.”</p><p>When the bard didn’t say anything, the silver haired woman became worried that she had offended him and sat up in the velvet chair. The man named Dandelion looked deep in thought, brow furrowed. Isteţime was glad the office had the sweet apple and cinnamon aroma to ease her anxieties in the bide for him to speak. When he finally did, it sounded nearly begrudged, if not uncertain. </p><p>“I may know of someone.”</p><p>To her it felt like a weight had been lifted. The bard, however, started shaking his head to the sight of the young woman’s enthusiasm. </p><p>“Don’t get your hopes up just yet, Eira.” He swallowed, looking altogether nervous and he, unless Isteţime was mistaken, had started to perspire about his forehead. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”</p><p>“Who are they?” She asked. “<em> Please </em> tell me they’re not a man.”</p><p>He frowned.</p><p>“Men are okay, too!”</p><p>Isteţime could have sworn his frown deepened even still. Not a man, either? She wondered. Maybe she would really like this mentor. </p><p>Dandelion, however, assured her several more times that he would merely work on it. Then, he fished out her class schedule from the file on his desk. He squinted and worked his mouth when he eyed over it, and it made Isteţime wonder where in the world this mystery mentor would have to be in order for him to fret over lab hours and lecture times. He was already making preparations to move courses around in order to accommodate when the young woman’s mumbling stomach called his attention to the sun’s placement in the sky. </p><p>“Oh, look at me, keeping you here like this!” Dandelion tsked to himself, “I’ve made you miss orientation...though I’m sure you didn’t need it by now.”</p><p>The bard then wrote down her graduates’ quarters so she could find it easily, reminding her that if all went well, she could be living in the Masters Programs townhouse by next semester. That, the silver haired woman thought, was being a little <em> too </em> optimistic- considering that she hadn’t even a mentor to get her through the <em> current </em> semester. </p><p>“Thank you for everything, sir. I look forward to hearing from you.”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” he replied. “Wait, Eira! You’re not...you...you wouldn’t call yourself an <em> angry </em> person, would you?”</p><p>She had stopped at the door when he called her name, but now she fully turned towards him. “I mean, everyone gets <em> angry </em> and <em> sad </em> now and again, don’t they, mister Dandelion?”</p><p>He nodded. “Not vengeful?”</p><p>“Not even in the slightest,” Isteţime shook her head. “Goodbye for now, Dandelion.”</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime had spent the first few days of classes with split attention. The weather was fantastic, the campus was bustling. Her large ear coverings for the most part dissuaded ogglers and passersby from actually interacting with her, and her flatmate had an adorable cat. The word “flat”, of course, being a generous term for the living situation she was in -- but anyone living <em> on campus </em> after their premier year was too poor and desperate for housing to complain. Besides, the architecture was absolutely beautiful. Not to mention if Isteţime actually allowed herself <em> to dream of it, </em> she <em> would </em> have a partial townhouse to <em> herself </em> next semester. </p><p><em> Summa cum laude... </em> Isteţime mused on the way to her Explorations of Teratology Through Constructive Anatomy of the Monstrous Forms lecture, <em> dare I imagine? </em></p><p>“Eira!” The call nearly tripped her on the final brick step <em> uphill </em> before she was caught by the arm and stood upright by a tall, young man with hay colored hair. She patted her black emerald sports blazer and pants for something to do before meeting him eye to eye, and sighed.</p><p>“Hey, Stefan.”</p><p>She didn’t wait for him to answer before she continued walking. </p><p>“Do you have Teratology now, too?”</p><p><em> Really wish he didn’t, </em> she realized. </p><p>“Stefan,” Isteţime approached the large, dark trimmed wooden building and held open its door for the young, handsome gentlemen, “why would a Bodily Sciences Undergrad such as yourself be in a Graduate level Teratology course?”</p><p>The man stuttered at the door, looking at the hazel-green eyed woman, then to the door she was holding open for <em> him </em>, then back to her as if he didn’t know how to be both chivalrous and proceed. </p><p>“For the love of an arbitrary god, Stefan, walk through the fucking doorway.”</p><p>The building was cool in temperature, covered in windows that overlooked the campus, the Pontar, and the windswept, ochre countryside. When Stefan began getting out a building map, she gently nudged him and nodded for him to follow. </p><p>“I don’t think it’s <em> that </em> weird I have this course with you.” </p><p>Isteţime noted the <em> with you </em> of that statement as she turned the corner.</p><p>“Uh<em> huh </em>.”</p><p>When the two of them sat, they were promptly joined by two of the silver haired sculptor’s friends. </p><p>“Heya ho, Eira,” a short, stout, dark haired woman in an elaborately frilly gown who had roughly five thousand freckles on her face and arms sat down beside Isteţime and Stefan.</p><p>“How’s it going, Rin?” She asked, “that dress is incredible.” </p><p>“Isn’t it, though?” Rin laughed, nodding to the blonde haired man familiarly, though <em> barely. </em> Then, a muscular man in a sweaty, cloth smithy shirt sat beside the three of them holding a muffin.</p><p>“Hey Jon.” Rin was opening her leather bound planner as he planted himself beside her.</p><p>“Ready for the new semester?” </p><p>“Absolutely...kind of. How ye fare, Stefan?”</p><p>“Pff, wish I was still in bed.”</p><p>“...cool, I guess. Wait a second, aren’t you a sophomore or something?”</p><p>“So where’s the forge, Jon?” Isteţime interjected, and Stefan smiled at her gratefully. <em> Great. </em></p><p>“Aw, you should <em> see </em> what I’m working on right now, seriously!” A smile formed on the man’s bearded face. <em> Partially </em> bearded. Isteţime had a suspicion that he kept the middle shaven because he thoroughly enjoyed his own <em> cleft chin. </em></p><p>As the three of them settled into their seats, a professor with an abundance of curly hair, rimmed glasses, and a new rolling canvas prepared the classroom for the lesson. During it, they were given their essays for the semester to complete at their leisure, though judging by the coursework itself, would be nearly impossible without some further explanation. </p><p>“The subject matter is largely <em> vampires </em>, of all things,” Isteţime sighed as she, Rin, and Jon made their way down the winding cobblestone path, through the wall of tall oak trees and firs that lined the outskirts of the round campus, “and I know diddly squat about them.” </p><p>The silver haired woman said goodbye to her friends after dropping them off at the mess hall. She was due to meet Dandelion this afternoon, at an hour past midday, and would enjoy her halved, roasted and spiced winter squash on the walk over. </p><p>As her boots clopped against the walkway, she was approached yet again by a head of blonde hair, only this was one she could better tolerate. </p><p>“Eira,” the strong jawed man with a beautiful hue of paint on his face began, stepping in line with the woman, “I’ve just heard that my brother was scolded for sneaking into a fourth year graduate course.” </p><p>Isteţime blushed, “I had <em> nothing </em> to do with it, Sloane.” </p><p>She would leave her squash for later, perhaps. </p><p>“I think you had <em> everything </em> to do with it.” </p><p>“By merely existing. No wonder I’m so fucking exhausted all the time, everyone keeps injecting themselves into my life.”</p><p>Sloane barked a laugh, sounding much like his brother- only Isteţime enjoyed that it was his. “I can only imagine.” </p><p>She had a hard time believing the shapely, handsome, and sensitive art major didn’t get his fair share of admirers. </p><p>“I’m not great at telling people to leave me alone,” she sighed, kicking out her boot as they made their way under the red and yellowing canopy of a tall, great oak. “It’s not even like he’s that bad. I’m just not interested.”</p><p>“Do you want me to break it to him?”</p><p>“Oh, <em> absolutely. </em>”</p><p>The man grinned, “So, just <em> out of curiosity, </em> what was it that dissuaded you?”</p><p>Isteţime was terrible at flirting, and she thought perhaps this was an attempt. She couldn’t think of anything, so she answered honestly. </p><p>“He’s too young and enthused for me,” she sighed. “He’s cute, but he says some stupid shit. Doesn’t know when to give it a rest, has loads of energy to go on in great detail about one small portion of a much larger and more intricate picture that he has yet to understand...you know. <em> That </em> whole thing.”</p><p>“Eira,” Sloane <em> really </em> laughed at this, “maybe take it easy on the melancholy or you’ll start to sound hypocritical.” </p><p>“I know.” She looked up at the building, slowing to a stop. “Well, I’ll see you later, Sloane.”</p><p>“Then later it is,” he smiled. </p><p> </p><p>Isteţime entered the small, narrow hallway to hear voices coming from Julian Alfred Pankratz’ Office, and sat on the bench feeling more than mildly uncomfortable from it. She ran her hand through her short hair, and removed her aubergine scarf from the long, thin, black emerald blazer beneath it.</p><p>When the door opened, a midsized man with a friendly- albeit gaunt- face, who was wearing a large, long black jacket, and a pouch that smelled overwhelmingly of <em> basil and old root vegetables </em>exited it and stood where it shut in front of the office. His deep brown eyes immediately went to the silver haired woman gazing out the window, and he stared at her for some time, then walked away. </p><p>“Company, Dandelion,” are the words he called over his shoulder as he took the steps two at a time, before abruptly, Isteţime couldn’t hear any steps being taken at all. She had rather enjoyed the sound of his voice, and wished, now, that she would have parted her attention from the window to observe the man whose eyes she had felt on her. </p><p>Then Dandelion opened the door, mumbling something about borrowing the man’s mule, and invited her in with a very, very broad smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of A Road Washed Out By Storms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The two of them meet.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“She had always wanted words, she loved them, grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape. Whereas I thought words bent emotions like sticks in water.” - Michael Ondaatje</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The city streets were filled by students enjoying their second week’s end. Isteţime’s green hazel eyes scanned the large wooden form in the cart, fastening it tightly in place before sitting back down as the wagon started to move. She looked away from her peers’ merrymaking and ran a newly sharpened blade over the small piece of black walnut. A fine dull layer of wood dust and shavings coated the front of her azure shirt; it was a loose, comfortable covering for the somewhat finer clothes she wore beneath it.</p><p>The cart bumped and wiggled. It also had a terrible squeak in its third wheel that neither the bard Dandelion nor the silver haired woman were outwardly acknowledging. As they made their way across the drawbridge, Isteţime heard her name being called.</p><p>“Eira!” Rin was trotting up through the sea of people, holding her several feathered skirts bundled in her hands, a bag over her shoulder. She reached the cart with little trouble. “Damn, it is <em> chill </em> out today, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Hey!” Isteţime rested her arms over the wooden side. “Haven’t noticed, really.”</p><p>“Liar.”</p><p>“I am not stopping this wagon,” Dandelion piped up in the front, “We must arrive before nightfall.”</p><p>“No one asked you to stop, sir,” the freckled brunette shouted, squeezing between two men who refused to move from her path. She eyed the statue. “Are you all set?”</p><p>“I think so, but you know how that works.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Rin tossed her bag into the cart, and started to climb in.</p><p>“What are you doing?” </p><p>“What do you think you’re doing?” Dandelion mimicked, “Eira, what is this?”</p><p>The freckled woman sat herself next to the sculpture, speaking directly to the curly blonde bard, now.</p><p> “Do you expect for me to let Eira stay in some wayward, derelict hut with two men she barely knows without meeting them first? Hoh-<em> hoh, </em> I think not.”</p><p>“Me? I wasn’t going to <em> stay the night </em> by any means,” Dandelion started laughing as heartily as Rin. “Oh, no. I’d rather not. I’m merely taking Eira for introductions, since she refuses to ride a horse and we can’t lend out our University’s wagons.”</p><p>The freckled woman looked to Isteţime. “...<em>riiiight. </em>Right...right<em>. </em>Welp, then I’ll leave with the bard.” </p><p>“Fine by me,” Dandelion called back, beginning to whistle with the passing barley.</p><p>“Rin,” Isteţime examined the small pawn she was carving, “when was the last time I admired you for how pushy you are?”</p><p>“Why, just now. So, I wanted to talk to you.” She made herself comfortable, “I ran into <em> Sloane </em> this morning.” </p><p>The pearl haired woman rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a smock to design, or something?” </p><p>...</p><p>“Yes, we’re having... a date.” Isteţime admitted.</p><p>“Ah! I knew it. He wouldn’t say much, despite my asking, but I <em> knew </em> it.” </p><p>“Was Stefan present during this investigation?”</p><p>“<em>So that’s </em> what Sloane was trying to tell me!” She snorted, falling into laughter, “Aw, good, bloodied tides that’s funny. Explains his behavior. How awkward.” </p><p>Isteţime watched the fields, flexing her hands as she was known to do. Rin looked at them and frowned.</p><p>“Are those bothering you again?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t worry about it.”</p><p>“I would, Eira.” The woman’s freckled face became pensive and worried, “Fevers?”</p><p>“No, Rin.” Isteţime swallowed, “I would tell you about that.”</p><p>“You promise?”</p><p>“...of course.”</p><p>The brunette relaxed, again. Taking a deep breath and exhaling. </p><p>“So, are you excited?”</p><p>“Somewhat,” Isteţime began running her blade over the pawn’s base, again. “Could you reach into that bag and hand me the coarsest sandpaper you feel?”</p><p>“The twenty grit?” Rin had her hand in the bag.</p><p>“Twenty works, thanks. I’m nervous to meet him, actually.”</p><p>“What? Not the <em>ye olde</em> <em>woodcarver</em>, Eira. I’m asking about <em>Sloane.</em> Your date, with <em>Sloane.</em> You know, <em>Kreve</em> incarnate. Blonde, godlike man? Ring any bells?<em>”</em></p><p>“Okay, <em> okay. </em> ” Isteţime blew gently on the black walnut. “No, I’m not nervous. Though I do really enjoy him. He’s certainly <em> handsome </em> enough.”</p><p>“I thought dating one of those <em> handsome </em> types would be what scared you away. Judging by how you never say yes to their proposals....”</p><p>“Not this again, Rin.”</p><p>“I get it, you like an eclectic assortment of impossibly long noses.”</p><p>Isteţime snorted.</p><p>“To better sail the wind and seas with, I gather.” </p><p>“For pity’s sake, Rin,” she smiled, amused, “I said I was going on the date, had I not? Besides, you court enough pretty men for half the campus.”</p><p>Rin beamed, kicking up her feet.</p><p>“That I do,” she eyed the curly blonde man in the front, and wiggled her eyebrows at her friend. </p><p>The lank woman went back to her work, “if you could wait for the journey home to start that business, I’d be much obliged.”</p><p>“You got it,” the brunette yawned, and found herself in an agreeable enough position to close her eyes. Isteţime shook her head, smiling.</p><p>“Bard chaser.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The sun was low in the sky when Isteţime pulled the azure colored over-shirt off above her head and placed the chisel in its wrappings. A chill was creeping in her toes, and she wrapped her aubergine shawl around herself in layers. She looked out at the hills; the unwelcoming sounds of wild country and the deep bellied woods that lined the far fields did not hold well to her favor. She wondered how much further they would go before she would be able to warm her feet. <em> More wool socks, </em> she noted. </p><p>Judging by the bright and unrelenting whistling coming from the front’s driver, and by the comfortable state of her long-sleeping companion, it was clear Isteţime’s apprehension was not shared. She let the players’ pieces slip into the black emerald blazer’s pocket hidden beneath her wide-scarf. </p><p>“Mister Dandelion.”</p><p>The whistling ended in a finale.</p><p>“Why yes, Eira?” The bard turned in his seat to the wagon’s cart, where Isteţime sat beside her seven foot tall carving of a flying siren. Dandelion noted that it was not a very attractive one - it’s face resembling a monstrous fish. </p><p>“How much further, exactly, is this Mister Van der Eretein and his workshop?”</p><p>“Oh, hah, well,” the bard refocused his attention to the path ahead, “not quite a ways, I don’t believe.”</p><p>Isteţime found the insecurity of his chuckle unnerving. </p><p>“And he’s expecting me to make this trip every...however many odd number of days?”</p><p>“An even number of days, and that’s <em> if </em> you don’t upset him out of the agreement.” The man whipped his curly hair back around, looking at her conversationally. “Listen, Eira, I know new mentors can be intimidating, but,” he paused, “it’s only...at first. Trust me, he is actually quite a kind man.”</p><p>“This Van der Eretein?”</p><p>“Yes, though that’s still Mister or better yet, <em>Sir</em> Van der Eretein, to you. <em>Huge</em> lush, once you get to know him. If you get to know him.” He looked around. “...<em>If</em> we <em>get</em> <em>to</em> him.”</p><p>The bard looked at Isteţime’s expression and outwardly laughed. </p><p>“I <em> jest, </em> Eira. We’ll arrive perfectly intact.”</p><p>The silver haired woman tightened her wide-scarf, covering her head and framing her face from the coarse wind. Trees were passing more frequently overhead, and not after long, they found themselves in a forest. </p><p>“It’s no further than Erde,” the man said confidently, but Isteţime could see him rubbing his arms as if cold, too. </p><p>“Mister Dandelion.”</p><p>“Ahah, <em> yes, </em> m’dear?”</p><p>“I’ll be expected to stay the entire week’s end, won’t I?”</p><p>“Is that a problem? There’s certainly no way you’d want to come all the way back after <em> one </em> night, is there?”</p><p>Isteţime blinked, “No, I wouldn’t.”</p><p>She imagined Stefan. Then her father. Then that damn squeaking of the cartwheel and the shadowy belly of these deep wood. “I wouldn’t at all.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Night had fallen when Isteţime woke, and saw the light of a cabin. </p><p>“Up, up, up, sleeping beauties!” The yellow haired man was liberating the siren of her clove-hitch binding. “We’ve finally arrived! My, is it cold out here, or <em> what?” </em></p><p>“It is cold out here,” Isteţime could examine her breath. </p><p>“Perhaps we would do to bring more suitable clothing,” Dandelion was speaking through chattering teeth. </p><p>“What the fuck was that,” Rin asked the bard, her voice trembling from the sound of loud sreeching. It was unlike any Isteţime ever heard. </p><p>“Wild boar, I suspect. Let me tell you, they <em> litter </em> this countryside - and don’t let their flavorsome cousins persuade otherwise, either. They are <em> ruthless </em>.” He tootled around to the women, politely tapping the woodworking apprentice by the elbow. “Let’s go in, I have a feeling your mentor will see to the siren.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t we help with it?” Isteţime asked. It had taken three men and a two part pulley system to get it into the cart in the first place, but the man just chuckled and continued on to the cabin with her stout friend in tow.</p><p>The bard was completely absolved of trepidation in announcing his arrival; he rapped on the door with gusto and a bundled hand, then stood in wait with a high chest. </p><p>“Should be but a minute.”</p><p>Rin smiled up at him in a contrived innocence, and Isteţime turned to stifle her amusement.</p><p>When the door opened, the trio was hit with a scent Isteţime recognized from the window lined area of S. Clemen’s Hall. She figured this must be Regis, a man whom the new counselor had made reference to several times. </p><p>“Ah, dear friends, welcome.” He greeted them with a warm, tight lipped smile and ushered them inside. </p><p>The room was warm and lit by fire. Isteţime noticed with surprise and glee that the small cabin was actually a Tudor style cottage<em> . </em> The half timbered frame crafted with jointery, and whomever built it was successful in displaying it internally. It was very handsome. </p><p>The slightly shorter man offered Isteţime a nod, “You must be our young student Eira.” </p><p>There was something very kind about him.</p><p>“Yes, and you must be Regis?”</p><p>“None other,” his eyes flickered to the window, and not long after he and Rin introduced themselves, did a chill enter the cottage, followed by the clank of a door closing in some other part of the home. A low throat clearing brought the silver haired woman’s attention to a man standing in the room’s other doorway. He was wearing the pin Dandelion described. </p><p>This man starkly contrasted expectations Isteţime wasn't aware she'd had.</p><p>He was in his forties, though not an easy approximation. He was rather tall, and <em> angular </em> in a way that the silver haired woman immediately found herself best trying to ignore. His hair was raven black, with the exception of a few graying strands by his temples. A dark tint shadowed the lower third of his rigid face, where thick hair had been shaved back, yet still visible on his rounded jaw. He turned from her, unbuckling a leather jacket he wore, hemmed a foot short of sweeping the boards.</p><p> Past the hairs that curled agreeingly at the base of his head and around the back of his ears, the woman could see that something had made his cheeks color pink. Upon hanging his coat, the richly dyed red tunic he wore helped pale them. </p><p>“Talk about a nose to sail by, if you <em> know what I’m sayi-” </em></p><p>Isteţime elbowed her mumbling friend directly in the ribs, and realized she, too, was blushing.</p><p>The man turned to his guests and Regis.</p><p>“Alas, Mister Van der Eretein!” Dandelion smiled, “How are you faring? I’ve brought your new pupil! Meet Eira.” </p><p>The breadth of the bard’s hand pat the woman between the shoulder blades, and she involuntarily took a step towards the man. He was a good four inches taller than her.</p><p>She peered up at two strikingly light blue eyes. She could smell him.</p><p>“Your cart is broken, Dandelion,” he said, breaking eye contact at last. It was going to take some effort for Isteţime to get used to how deep his voice was. It was almost comically low. Comically masculine. </p><p>Least, that’s what the woman was telling herself. </p><p>“A word, Regis?” Mister Van der Eretein turned on his heel, then left with the shorter and more kindly mannered man. </p><p> </p><p>Dandelion had gone outside to examine the cart, Rin following him and, not wanting to take up space in her new mentor’s home without him showing it to her first, Isteţime wandered out with them. As the bard whined over how spoiled his week’s end was, Rin all the while consoling him in a <em> very </em> understanding manner, the silver haired woman merely tried to figure out how in the world Mister Van der Eretein was able to move her sculpture. She hoped he hadn’t broken or tarnished it in any way. </p><p>Regis was first to return, informing everyone that his friend would be working in his shop the rest of the night due to unforeseen circumstances that could not be helped, much to Isteţime’s doubt and worry. </p><p>She desperately hoped she had not already done something wrong. Perhaps she’d stared at him. It’s not like she’d meant to. It was only that her friend had been right in that she <em>had</em> had a reaction to him. </p><p><em>“...nose to sail by. </em>Fuck me,” Isteţime put her face in her hands, sitting out in front of the dark cottage. “For the love of Yrrhedes, you go nearly five years without so much as batting an eye, <em> really </em> batting an eye, and two seconds into meeting your mentor you <em>ogle</em> him…” The woman had to stop herself from smacking her head with a balled fist. </p><p>“Eira?” Dandelion’s voice startled her. “Sorry! Just, <em> taking a walk. </em> Hah. Okay, I wasn’t taking a walk. You shouldn’t be out here.”</p><p>He looked around.</p><p>“Not alone, at least.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Oh, you know,” he waved his hand, still looking around. "<em>You</em>know.”</p><p>The silver haired woman looked up at him, now. </p><p>“Everything alright, Mister Dandelion?”</p><p>“Fine, fine. Listen, you should get some sleep.”</p><p>“On that floor with the rest of you?” Isteţime thought of the way Rin had been looking at him.</p><p>“Your friend <em> is </em> exceedingly aggressive.” </p><p>“Is that why you’re out here?”</p><p>“It would be more comfortable were you in the vicinity, I’m sure.”</p><p>The bard’s face became less sure of itself, then. </p><p>“Any word on my mentor?”</p><p>“Still in his workshop, as Regis said he would be. Eira, don’t worry about him. He likes you already! I can tell.”</p><p>Isteţime stood, giving a chuckle to the man who - whether for his competitive job title or not - was working very hard to console her. Though she wasn’t sure he caught it, something told the pearl haired woman that he probably had. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>_____________________________________________</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The country that lay east of Oxenfurt and Novigrad had been dispassionately nicknamed “No Man’s Land”; the epithet came about by which <em> all </em> sobriquets did: it was earned. </p><p>On bright mornings and afternoons, at times when the sun did visit, the wild’s sloping and tree dappled hills appeared more than pleasant. The low, vast fields glossed with a gold and shimmering grain would seem friendly and open. The smell of wild flowers and in the fall, dying foliage would be quite welcoming. It was ancient and unsullied, as if urgency could not set root. It was in the country’s very rejection of human settlement that the region became a comfortable harbor for the dark haired wood carver. The small cottage had been erected in the woods by him, and the woods remained unhurried.</p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>When the silver haired woman woke, the wagon was gone and the sun was nearing midday. She went to the water basin that the man Regis had shown her the night before. </p><p>Something that looked very similar to a goosefeather fell from her hair as she washed her face. She picked it up and examined it. </p><p>“Who in the shit has geese around here?”</p><p>On her way to the noise of a saw - which was her best bet as to where this Mister Van der Eretein would be, she grabbed a cookie from a plate stacked with them atop the kitchen counter and bit into it. </p><p>It was terrible.</p><p>Isteţime found the workshop through the door, down a short hall, in the back of the cottage. It was a small, cramped, and very welcoming solarium, really. There were finished and half finished carvings scattered throughout. There were wild and domesticated plants taking up vacancies on tables and in corners. There were tools placed in their designated spaces. It smelled something earthy and masculine, and heated. There were planks of timber running stacked, flush against the far windows. There was a beautiful wooden lounge off center and accompanied by bindings of parchment as if the man also took leisure here. It was well organized. In fact, the entire workshop was well organized. Isteţime hoped this man wouldn’t find her out for the horrible shit show she was at organization anytime before semester’s end. Nor how all her plants died on her, despite her efforts. </p><p>She did notice it was very warm, and wondered at the man who was wearing a full red tunic as she removed her black emerald blazer from beneath her azure over shirt to accommodate. </p><p>“I apologize for resting so late. You could have woken me.”</p><p>The dark haired man started, as if he’d been entranced by his work, and stood quickly. </p><p>“No need.”</p><p>His eyes scanned her. That voice was certainly going to be an issue for Isteţime. She could feel herself blushing. </p><p>The man named Van der Eretein wore a scowl as he appraised her, looking far, <em>far</em> less than happy or satisfied. </p><p>"Come."</p><p>In the kitchen, he informed her that it had food. He showed her outside around the cottage. He introduced her to the garden and told her there were vegetables in it. He walked her to where the well was and pointed to the notch that stuck the rope and explained how to unstick it. He gestured in the direction of the outhouse. Walked her to the front door and on the front step looked down at her and asked with a polite severity that she not venture outside after sunset. They traveled back inside to where he kept the water basin. He turned and she felt his eyes on her when he informed her that need she wash, to simply ask, and he could manage the tub.</p><p>The last had induced her consideration of the man’s physique. The narrowness in his waist, and the width to his shoulders. He walked her back to the solarium and workshop.</p><p>The master woodworker had done his homework with the information either Dandelion or Regis provided him. He knew she had to finish four sculptures of the same quality as her siren in the time before Yule’s break. He informed her with his deep timbre that the siren was consummate. She filled him in on the school’s criteria for it, but somehow, he’d naturally already known or guessed at it all. It was impressive. It was at this point that Isteţime realized that the man’s face had a tendency to fall into an expression that was, in all truth, menacing, and she decided that she would hold off on broaching the Skellige trip until next week's end. </p><p>After the introductions of the workshop, the man named Van der Eretein sat at his stool and began carving into a flat board. She walked to the large, debarked stump of butternut that he had prepped for her before her arrival.</p><p>“Have you ever crafted a footboard?” He asked, voice husky, not looking up at her. </p><p> The lank apprentice swallowed, <em> fuck. </em> A <em> footboard? </em></p><p>“It can’t be that difficult. It’s a footboard.”</p><p>A deep, rich, trace of a chuckle took her by surprise. </p><p>“It is not.”</p><p>He nodded to a workspace directly across from him, then pointed to the windows that had planks of timber.</p><p>“Rosewood?” She asked.</p><p>“Here,” he held out instructions, and she took them from his surprisingly long fingers.</p><p>Isteţime picked out a rosewood six by four and sat across from the dark haired, master woodworker. There was already a mallet, chisels, saws, sandpaper, and four axes at the station.</p><p>“Did you sight it?” </p><p>“Sight it?” Isteţime looked up at him, but his striking blue eyes did not look up at her. “What length will it be?”</p><p>“It will have length enough for you to sight it.”</p><p>“Sir Van der Eretein, are you-”</p><p>Isteţime jumped at the pounding of his fist to the table. </p><p>“Do as I say.” </p><p>She paused, the words with which she wanted to correct his poor behavior caught in her throat. Loud noises scared her. She knew it to be true of a number of people, but felt weak by it still. This slightly angered the woman.</p><p>Isteţime stood, and picked up the piece of timber. She held one end up to her eye, looking down the side of it. She turned it, and looked down the other way. It was indeed curved. She walked over to the wall and got another, sighting it before walking back to the workbench and measured it for her cut. It was difficult for her to believe he was having her work on a <em> footboard. </em></p><p>The dark haired man watched his working student. Then his eyes traveled to the cookie on her work table she hadn’t finished, then to her siren.</p><p>“Do you like Oxenfurt?”</p><p>Isteţime thought he sounded sad. She looked up at him, and saw that he looked sad. </p><p>“Yes, I do.”</p><p>His blue eyes flickered about her face. Isteţime watched his square jaw, the grey hairs on his temple were handsome. <em> He </em> was handsome.</p><p>“I had not meant to scare you.” </p><p>The silver haired woman shifted in her seat. Eventually she wanted to ask him what exactly he <em> had </em> intended to do, but for now, with him staring at her, she didn’t know what to say to his statement. She need only make it through the semester. To convince him to go on a trip.</p><p>And so they continued working in silence for some hours.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>After she finished, the dark haired man nodded his stubbled chin. He grasped her footboard along with what he’d been working on all at once and with ease, then stood. </p><p>He led her back into the cottage and single file up a somewhat cramped stairwell, the walls of which were lined with paintings. Isteţime wondered how he could afford them. They went past a door emanating heat, and the silver haired woman let out a satisfied hum from it. His head twitched back to look at her, then to the door, before he continued forward into a small room with one window. He walked to the middle and set down the parts of some contraption while Isteţime rubbed her arms, idly, and watched him. It was the coldest room she’d ventured yet. He went to a knee and began putting joints together, Isteţime knelt across from him and began mimicking him.</p><p>“Are you cold?” He asked without looking up.</p><p>It was then she noticed for the first time what <em> he </em> had been carving into.</p><p>“A headboard?” She asked. There were sirens and cliffsides carved into it.</p><p>The man held his wrist in one of his hands. They were very large. </p><p>“Yes, it is a headboard. I hadn’t known you were a woman.”</p><p>The deep voice which earlier had nearly been a point of attraction to his apprentice, currently put her on edge. </p><p>“Does that matter, Mister Van der Eretein?”</p><p>He blinked, forehead relaxing. “It does very little.”</p><p>“But it was remarkable?”</p><p>She watched the dark haired man’s broad chest...broaden, before exhaling. “I would not have a woman sleep on the floor.”</p><p>That was a bit of an outdated sentiment. Though Isteţime would rather sleep on a bed, she was not a person who often stopped herself, and she gave in to her curiosity. </p><p>“That we made because women are daintier and can’t sleep on floors?”</p><p>She braced herself for another loud noise, but it did not come.</p><p>“Because I have found most human men carry less in their minds during the hours of night,” he answered, “and thus sleep easier.” </p><p>That made her snort in agreement. Halfway to congratulating him on his perceptiveness she fell still. There was something not right about the statement. Something odd. Isteţime peered up at him.</p><p>“<em>Human </em> men?”</p><p>Sir Van der Eretein’s hands slowed, and his light blue eyes met her's with a tepid curiosity. She felt mesmerized by the closeness and intensity of his gaze.</p><p>“Have you not known a man of a different kind?”</p><p>The woman had to blink in order to look away from him. She bowed her head downwards at the footboard before she found herself answering.</p><p>“Perhaps not.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>After connecting the frame, Isteţime stopped and massaged her hand, the joints of which were aching. Sir Van der Eretein wore a deep crease betwixt the brow, and after he set the frame in the corner of the room nearest the window, cleared his throat.</p><p>“Does the cold bother them?” </p><p>Isteţime ran one of her hands through her silver hair. “If I’m in it for too long, yes.”</p><p>The man eyed the room, and frowned. </p><p>“I was unaware of your affliction.”</p><p>“It’s not worth your worry.”</p><p>The tall man cocked his head at this, eyes narrowing in contemplation, before he retreated.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That evening, as Isteţime worked the giant, debarked trunk in the far corner of the workshop solarium, Sir Van der Eretein watched carefully. Attentively. She did not know how to tell him she needn’t help in the beginning stages. Maybe she did, though. A part of her felt like he was only watching because he wanted to point out something wrong. </p><p>That, however, could have had more to do with the way his face tended to rest in that intimidating scowl. </p><p>Now and again, Isteţime caught him frowning at her hands. Around the fourth hour of arduous planning, sawing, and other preparations, she sat for a break, and realized that the master woodcarver was no longer present. The sun had fully set; the solarium was now dark and cold. </p><p> </p><p>Tired, she made her way back into the cottage and stared at a blue and red painting that hung nearest the dark haired man’s fireplace. She then sat on the long lounging bed, taking a book out of the bag she never brought upstairs and read for some time, letting herself warm up near the roaring flames, wrapped snugly in her aubergine shawl.</p><p>The woman heard a throat clearing, and turned to see the deep voiced man standing in his kitchen, looking very much like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Isteţime did not notice he’d been standing there, or when he walked in. </p><p>“Finished for the night, Isteţime?”</p><p>He spoke her name the same as her mother, and it thawed her.</p><p>“Yes,” She ran a hand down the part of her short, thick, pearl colored hair, and sat up. Isteţime noticed that the man seemed to be watching as she did. “It’s Eira.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” He hesitantly walked into the room, as if not knowing whether or not that was what he should do in his own home. His long fingers traced the back of the lounge she’d nestled herself, on the opposite end from her, and sat. His movements were slow and almost seemed very careful.</p><p>“I prefer to be called Eira.”</p><p>The man’s brows came together again. In this light, he looked...different, and Isteţime pulled her shawl around her tighter, feeling a chill.</p><p>“Are you not clever?” He finally asked.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>The man quickly looked away, and shifted uncomfortably. </p><p>“Does Isteţime not mean clever?”</p><p>“Oh.” She did like the way he said it. “No, it does.”</p><p>He smelled very nice.</p><p>“But you would still rather I call you Eira?”</p><p>The woman nodded. </p><p>“Eira,” he tested it out, and she liked the way he said this, too. “Are you called this for your hair?”</p><p>The woman nodded again, looking away from his unnerving eyes. He seemed to know quite a bit. </p><p>He shifted some more. </p><p>“Earlier,” He began, then stopped. Isteţime could not figure out what this enigma’s communication barrier was. “Earlier you told me your pain was not worth my presence of mind.”</p><p>He appeared to be working something over that he just couldn’t get. </p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Isteţime froze. That was some sort of question. Her eyes flickered to him, and he was studying her. The woman felt his attention like a hare would a hound's. </p><p>“I, forgive me,” he began to stand.</p><p>“No, please, it’s a fair question.” She sat up further, “It’s a <em> good </em> question.”</p><p>He resettled on the day bed, closer to her, this time. Isteţime did not know if it was by accident. It almost seemed like he’d never sat on it before. As if this were his first time. Or maybe his first time sitting <em> up </em> on it? The silver haired woman mused. It was altogether very odd. He seemed bad at sitting to the point where Isteţime almost wanted to get up and offer him the entire thing, lest he hold some sitly grudge. </p><p>The woman realized how rude she was being, as he was patiently awaiting her answer. </p><p>“I guess whether or not it’s worth your concern is up to you.” </p><p>“It is.”</p><p>Isteţime looked at him, and swallowed. “Pardon?”</p><p>“It is worth my concern.”</p><p>For a moment she thought he was kidding, and was prepared to heckle when she saw the reverence in his expression.</p><p>“Oh.” The woman was suddenly on the verge of tears. “Well, thank you. As your student I can-”</p><p>“As anything.”</p><p>His forehead held no tension now and, taking a deep breath, he stood. He walked to the wall, and removed a painting. “Will Dandelion come for you tomorrow?”</p><p>The woman gathered her long legs to her chest.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>His light blue eyes looked yellow, like a wolf’s. His voice was quite soft, however.</p><p>“Will you be returning next week’s end?”</p><p>“Yes, if I am welcomed.”</p><p>“You are.”</p><p> </p><p>The woman watched as he disappeared into the stairwell, and heard his footfalls creak up to what she imagined was his bedroom. In all the woman’s years, she never expected someone to be so unapologetically <em> fine </em> with telling a person they barely knew that they cared. As if it were as instinctual as breathing, even. Her aubergine shawl was becoming too warm near the fire, but still she sat. It wasn’t until she heard the screeching and rustling of wild boar directly outside the window that she lit a candle and went upstairs. </p><p>There was a mound of wool blankets on the bed for her.</p><p>Isteţime set the candle down on the makeshift nightstand and yawned, beginning to spread the blankets over her. The screeching did not inspire as much fear, now that she was upstairs. She found that the bed did help her fall asleep. </p><p> </p><p>In the morning she could not find Sir Van der Eretein before her departure. A man who was not Dandelion had come up with a wagon, informing her that her counselor was preparing for a lecture. He helped with her <em> one </em> bag, awkwardly, considering it was around her shoulder at the time his chivalry struck. </p><p>The afternoon was sunny, and passed as slowly as the cart. Isteţime was lost in thought and, admittedly, a bit of wonder at her new mentor. She removed a small piece of black walnut from her blazer’s pocket, and began whittling the next pawn in the chest set. She continued doing so until they reached Oxenfurt. Until they crossed the bridge into the University campus as the sun began to wane. </p><p>She thanked the driver, who would continue to stare at her unabashed as she grabbed her very own bag all on her own, and bound down the path between the large lecture halls to the corner of the campus where her Graduate flat sat overlooking the western portion of the Pontar. She unlocked the large door of the darkwood porch, and stepped inside the tudor styled building. Her flat was narrow. </p><p>She walked up the rich steps, the sunset illuminating the kitchen and the small shared area, and the hallway to her roommate’s quarters. She had the upstairs to herself. It was very much like a perch. Her own nook. Her bedroom had an Engel corner to her Oriel window in it, where she had put benches and upholstered pillows in order to lay and read by. She stepped into her room and lit her candles. Sitting in the nook, she opened her book on Northern Architecture that she was to proofread for error and embellishment for the next edition. </p><p>It could use it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The architecture of Oxenfurt appears to most as ornamental. The city is known for its beauty, and it’s beauty is largely because of its city planning. Home of Borsody Auction House, of the Academy with its many lecture halls, - and several aristocratic intellectuals whose homes are that of envy - make Oxenfurt a must-see for all who wish to succeed in the field. However, the buildings themselves are anything but aesthetic driven. From the trim you see, to the figure Friezes, all the way to the large Engel corner nook that you, dear reader, are most likely enjoying this book in, are all structural components made popular by half-timbered fra- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Eira?” </p><p>The silver haired woman looked up from her book to the bald headed woman standing in the doorway to her room. It was covered in dark navy tattoos. Isteţime noticed that her roommate looked worried. “Everything alright, Selah?”</p><p>“Have you seen Nellie or know where she's conducting her evil business?” This was the woman’s small, noisy cat whom Isteţime had immediately befriended. The feline mostly enjoyed staring at the silver haired woman from very close by and always in her line of sight. It was unnerving, and to Isteţime especially hilarious. </p><p>“I haven't a clue, but I can help you look.”</p><p>As the woman started to bend over, checking beneath her bed for the scraggly grey feline, she heard a rapping at the door. </p><p>A rapping filled with <em> gusto. </em></p><p>“Melitele’s fifth cousin,” she sighed, standing. She took the steps three at a time and reached the door just in time for another bout of rapping, and opened it. </p><p>“Good, you’re here.” </p><p>"Hello, Mister-"</p><p>The man named Dandelion stepped inside without asking. He had a pip in his step and seemed rather gitty. </p><p>“Well I don’t know what you did or how you did it, Eira, but <em> boy </em>, you played your cards right!”</p><p>Isteţime was confused, if not worried. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>“Better than alright. <em> This,” </em> he held up a piece of paper, “is the Young Masters Agreement, are you familiar?”</p><p>“Yes,” Isteţime sighed, “How else would I have been in line to apprentice Yustef?”</p><p>“Oh! Right, the dead one, of course. Well, <em> this, </em>” he wiggled the parchment, “is the agreement I sent to Van der Eretein a <em>week</em> ago, that your driver just dropped off.”</p><p>Isteţime eyes widened. </p><p>“He signed it?”</p><p>“He did indeed. <em> You’ve </em> got a trip to Skellige and <em> I’ll </em> be up for a promotion in <em> no </em> time.” </p><p>The silver haired woman threw up her arms, moisture gathering in her eyes. </p><p>“There, there. Take this. You earned it. I have to get going, however. Just wanted to give you the good news.”</p><p>Dandelion threw her a leather roll and walked towards the door. </p><p>“What is this?” Isteţime asked. </p><p>“Wouldn’t know, it came with the agreement, but your name’s on it.” </p><p>Something donned on the bard and his entire face went red. </p><p>"You were comfortable out there, right?”</p><p>“I was,” she replied absentmindedly. The pearl haired woman’s attention was now focused on the leather wrap. The bard wasn’t kidding. It had her name pressed into it. She looked up and saw Dandelion staring at her. “I’m sorry, is there anything else, Mister Dandelion?”</p><p>He shook his head now. </p><p>"You look pale,” Isteţime frowned. </p><p>“No, I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” He opened up the door. “Congratulations, Eira.”</p><p> </p><p>The woman was so relieved, so light, that she felt like she might float away were she not so saddled with other coursework. </p><p>“Was that the new President of the Seven Liberal Arts?” Selah asked. </p><p>“That was Dandelion.” Isteţime wasn’t paying attention as she walked back up the stairs. She heard her roommate bout an expletive akin to ‘<em> holy shit’ </em> as she closed the door behind her. </p><p>She sat next to the window in her nook, pushing the stuffy architectural text off onto the floor without noticing. </p><p>The leather smelled of him. </p><p>Isteţime examined it, checking it’s contents. There were eight chisels inside, though it was obviously supposed to hold nine. There was a piece of rolled parchment in the loop where the last should have been. </p><p>The silver haired woman was giddy. The chisels were very fine. They were very fine indeed. She held up the wrap and plucked the parchment from its fastening and pushed against its stubborn curve. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
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    <em> The ninth one I needed. </em>
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    <em> Dettlaff </em>
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</blockquote><p> </p><p>“Dettlaff?” She spoke it quietly. “What a very handsome name.”</p><p>
  
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. So Begins the Braiding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Regis would like answers as to why Dandelion allowed for Eira to remain in Teratology while working with her mentor. Eira begins to notice strange qualities about the woodcarver.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>The third week of classes, candles were lit and set by groundskeepers to guide students through the walkways if needed. Bonfires began to bloom like rare autumn flowers; dances were being advertised by generations of trees to keep the greener cheerful during their maiden semesters. Fires and dances that were to be held, and would be held, predominantly during weeks’ end. </p><p>Isteţime was speaking to her friends and the young Stefan on this very subject, ambling in the direction of the mess hall for lunch. With a quick swipe of the hand, the blonde man tore a harvest flyer nailed to one of the path’s white birches.</p><p>“I just do not know how you manage to handle it,” Stefan’s voice was frustrated, and Rin did not fail to point this out to Isteţime with the set of her brows. “I would be incensed were I to miss the harvest celebrations!”</p><p>“When you’re nearly a decade into it, the bonfires tend to lose their appeal,” Isteţime was eyeing her notes from the morning's last lecture. </p><p>The four of them continued into the wide, windowed building. The lowering skies were threatening rain through the stained glass and, hovering over the sienna fields past the Pontar’s western breast, lightning struck. </p><p>“The gods, I love a storm,” the incredibly muscled Jon grabbed a trencher-plate and sat on the nearest bench lining a long, lacquered, darkwood table. He glimpsed the blonde’s concerned expression across from him. “Stefan, listen. Rin, Eira and I don't care so much for the bonfires because we’re at this place in our education where we want to get <em> out </em> of school. Or at the very least, <em> have the end in sight </em> . Graduate. <em> Graduate. </em> We’ve nothing against the actual activities, mind.”</p><p>The woodcarver pulled a candle nearer to where she laid her coursework. “I’m still relieved that graduation and the Masters Program are back on the table for me.”</p><p>The young man sat his mug to the lacquered boards with a <em> thud. </em></p><p>“Even with the bonfires missed. I fail to comprehend how it’s safe for you to study out in that desolate place,” he huffed. “The records’ keeper had nothing on any Van der Eretein, either.”</p><p>Isteţime looked up from her parchment, green-hazel eyes stifling the young man where he sat. If she had given him a stern look, it hadn’t been her intention. She was aware of the fact that men often found her eager curiosity intimidating, and the pearl haired woodcarver <em> was </em>made curious by this fact he shared. </p><p>“Ste<em> fan </em> , come <em> on. Buddy, </em>” Jon bemoaned through his plate’s fourth or fifth muffin. Rin laughed.</p><p>The lank woman remained silent and contemplative.</p><p>“Nothing?” Isteţime’s eyes narrowed, and the blonde suddenly took interest with his shirt’s own cufflinks.</p><p>“Not a thing.”</p><p>Rin slapped her brown bangs to her freckled forehead.</p><p>“The sculptor lives in the middle of <em> nowhere </em> and refuses to visit campus, I’m not surprised they don’t have anything on him. He probably would like to keep it that way, too. I know these hermit types.” Rin baptized her bread knife with its third fruit jam, “Or my family does. My uncle owns a mill northwards of your prickly carver’s cottage. People like their privacy in No Man’s Land, Stefan. That,” she waved her utensil conversationally, “is the way of things. Try not to fuck it up by prying.”</p><p>“It’s okay, Rin.” Isteţime put a hand over her friend’s dull knife, lowering it from Stefan's sternum.</p><p>“He’s <em> prickly?” </em> Stefan threw up his hands. “Rin says he’s <em> prickly.” </em></p><p>The silver haired woman bit her smile.</p><p>“Stop being so smug, Stefan,” Jon barked a low, rich bark, “Rin fancies the man. Probably why she’s defending him.”</p><p>“I fancy <em> many </em> men,” the brunette smiled sharply, smacking the large forge craftsman’s next baked good from his vice, severing the top of the muffin from its base. “Many, <em> many </em> , many <em> . </em> This man, I do <em> not. </em> Even despite how...he is. I do not work with <em> prickly </em> men.”</p><p>“He isn’t prickly.” </p><p>“He makes my skin prickle. My hair stands on end and everything.” </p><p>“He is <em> not </em> prickly.” Isteţime hummed, mapping out her next sculpture. “He’s brusque. Seldom. Calloused, perhaps. He seems nervous with his hands, somehow.”</p><p>“<em> Brusque </em>?”</p><p>“He’s my mentor, what am I to do about it?” The silver haired woman collected her things, including the partially completed plan for her Godling sculpture, and stood. “I’m going to go find a place to work because I have to finish this. Possibly a place where the concern for my life doesn’t soak the floorboards.” She smiled at the lot of them. “I’ll see you after the week’s end.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>From three stories above a large, sloped green speckled with studying students and overlooking the western side of the Pontar, a man permeating rosemary and thyme observed the people below. Regis then gazed at the horizon - the sky an incredible blue. He owed the pleasure to Dettlaff entirely. </p><p>His posture was tight by the shoulders.</p><p>The man turned to his friend, the bard Dandelion, when he entered his own campus living quarters.</p><p>“What are yo-”</p><p>“Dandelion, I was hoping you would stop in.”</p><p>“Stop in? I live here, Regis.”</p><p>Dandelion gamboled to his desk under the other man’s gaze.</p><p>“You know the various course curriculum of the campus you reside, I take it?”</p><p>The blonde haired man’s complexion paled as he sat in his chair, and Regis continued without waiting for a repyly.</p><p>“No? Perhaps, at the very least, then, of your counseled students?”</p><p>In fewer strides than it had taken the bard, Regis crossed the room and placed a book on the desk he was sitting. Dandelion looked at it. </p><p>It was titled <em> The Beast of Beauclair, </em> and sported a rather abhorrent  illustration on its front cover.</p><p>“Eira was reading a copy of this last week’s end, cozied next to Dettlaff’s fireplace, Dandelion. I am perplexed as to why you hadn’t, during your rearranging of Ms. Stelhet’s schedule, chosen to <em> pluck </em> her from a class that takes in-depth examination of the precise physical differences between our two species.”</p><p>“I thought a little education on the subject would be good for her?” Dandelion had not thought about any of it.</p><p>“Including the entire section dedicated to her mentor’s onslaught?”</p><p>The bard gave an incredible groan at the book on his desk.</p><p>“Well, I hadn’t known <em> that.” </em></p><p>Regis went quiet for a moment, returning to the window. “I suspect Dettlaff agreed to the terms because he is paranoid. He wants to keep an eye on her, of that I have very little doubt.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“That<em>, </em> most likely, if Ms. Stelhet plays inspector, or if Dettlaff has even the slightest intimation she suspects anything,” his umber eyes followed a short, freckled woman walking amongst the yard’s fallen leaves, “I’m not certain what he will do. He’s in a… a state about it, for lack of a better term.”</p><p>He gave a very sad sigh, and the bard stood.</p><p>“Are you worried he’s going to hurt her?<em>” </em> Dandelion laughed, nervously, “Regis, Dettlaff has <em> changed. </em>Besides,” the blonde continued, gesturing through the air that lay about him with one hand, the other placed aggressively on his hip, “I doubt he would be giving her gifts if he were plotting to <em> kill </em> her.”</p><p>This surprised the kindly man named Regis, and though it should be good news (or so was the assumption held by the bard) his brow creased contemplatively. </p><p>“This is fuck all, Dandelion.”</p><p>“A real juggling act.”</p><p>“Has she left yet?”</p><p>Dandelion frowned, “Four hours ago. She’s probably just arriving.” </p><p>The bard’s shoulder was shortly gripped by a large hand. Regis offered him a slight smile, “I will go to him tonight and smooth him out, if he indeed needs smoothing.”</p><p>“If he doesn’t?”</p><p>“Then I do hope Ms. Stelhet is a gentle person. Gift giving for Dettlaff is a bit of a... Well. I shall spare you the details of our more bestial friend’s courting rituals.”</p><p>The man named Dandelion’s mouth fell to a manner that suggested he’d bitten into something sour.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The driver of the wagon had been another dull sit-in. Dull, at least, in contrast to the woman's counselor. After the first hour she got him to stop turning around to speak to her about nothing. Or worse yet, to simply gawk. Isteţime came to miss Mister Dandelion’s whistling before reaching their destination. </p><p>Upon sifting the cottage from the forest, the pearl haired woodcarver tucked the book she’d been reading into her bag out of fear of seeming unfocused. She’d left it by the fire last week’s end, and found it thrown somewhat uncharitably about the lounging bed as she left. Isteţime grabbed her bags and her new chisels in their leather roll. The sun was low, but light still lingered. The driver did not wait to see if she made it inside before he turned the cart and left. </p><p>She would not call him a skittish man for it. </p><p>In the cottage, a fire was going. Isteţime realized she did not know what they would do with this extra time. The week prior she arrived much later into the night. After performing somewhat of a perimeter check, Isteţime had not found her mentor, and proceeded to take two large sweet potatoes from a basket in the kitchen, then ventured out and gathered a bundle of rosemary, three sprigs of thyme, and six leaves of sage from the garden into the cooking pot nestled in the cottage fireplace. She then settled in the workshop, which was beautiful in the setting sun. Isteţime was too tired and hungry, and in all truth, aching about the joints to continue working the large butternut stump she’d left her last stay. </p><p>In silence, she observed the wild that lay outside the solarium until her eyes landed on a line of small, wild flowers at the property’s edge. A smile rose to her mouth. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>She finished the delicate carving and set it on the dark haired man’s book that lay beside his workshop lounge. In it, he’d written or drawn by her observation thrice before. </p><p>A low throat clearing brought her hairs on end. </p><p>“I informed you to not venture outside after dark.” </p><p>The deepness of his voice once more made her anxious, and a hand of hers swept through the part of her silver hair, before she twirled to greet her mentor.</p><p> His eyes were steady on her. </p><p>“The sun hasn’t set,” she started making a gesture to everywhere, and for a moment, he looked caught off guard. The man named Van der Eretein shifted his weight uneasily.</p><p>“Perhaps,” the lank, pearl haired woman offered, “sunset is also too late. Too dark. I will avoid going outside at that time if it is dangerous.”</p><p>Isteţime saw how his posture relaxed by this. The handsome roundness of his jaw roped in muscle momentarily, before he nodded. Half mindedly, the student observed the way his hair curled around his ears once more. There was something about his ears she enjoyed. The man gripped his right wrist by his large left hand clumsily, and she noticed that he was no longer gazing straight through her. She followed him through the door to the cottage living room.</p><p> She walked to the fire where the food had long finished cooking.</p><p>After lazily spicing the vegetables, the woman set them on the table and sat. She hadn’t expected her mentor to stay when she did so, but to her surprise, the tall man shed his black leather coat and took a seat across from her.</p><p>“Thank you for the chisels.” </p><p>“I had not known, when I pressed your name to it, that you prefer Eira.”</p><p>Isteţime looked up at the man across from her, slightly astonished. He had made those chisels, she knew that to be true. The chisels, the handles, the leather wrap. They were of pristine quality, and she was a broke student that spun yarn for room and board during the sweltering heat of summer. She’d written her mother about the gift immediately out of excitement, and because of how much it meant. Part of her hadn’t allowed herself to believe that they were actually <em> hers- </em> she half expected him to rip them from her at any moment. Or for them to vanish into thin air. They were too good for her. In fact, they were what she deserved. He apologized for the <em> name </em>. The sweet potato was disagreeing with her throat’s passageway. She swallowed it thickly and looked up at him. </p><p>The tall, handsome, and dark haired man was staring at her unabashedly. His brows pulled together ever so faintly. </p><p>“Mister Van der Eretein, please. I adore the gift.” The woman bit her lip at the truth of it, and looked down. </p><p>His lips parted.</p><p>“...I’m sorry, I- excuse me.” Isteţime stood and made haste to her room.</p><p>She always knew herself to be a monumental cryer. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>After shedding tears brought on by <em> everything, </em> it seemed, the woman threw the wool blankets off her. There were even more this week’s end than last. A moment's consideration led Isteţime to realize, much to her horror, that she had entirely too burdensome a workload to not utilize this time with her mentor. Having to face him so shortly after nearly crying in his presence was not something she looked forward to.</p><p>She nearly stepped on the plate of food in front of her door, and she stared at it. "Gods, if he heard me in there sobbing..."</p><p>Picking it up, she popped part of a rather cold sweet potato in her mouth. </p><p>It was good, and Isteţime continued to enjoy it as she eyed the new stack of cookies on the counter and deflated. </p><p>She took a few and put them in her pocket. She broke one more in half, pocketed half, and walked into the workshop with the other in her hand. </p><p>Isteţime had no idea why she could absolutely and at all costs, not let the man know they were terrible. </p><p>She popped part of one in her mouth as she stepped through the door of the workshop, following the sound of sanding. Her mentor was standing, staring at a vase, sectioned and glued together. It was tedious work, she knew. The kind Isteţime offered to do when she needed to have her mind taken off of something. </p><p>She wondered what Sir Van der Eretein’s mind might need wandering from as she approached her butternut. </p><p>Isteţime’s hands hurt something awful in this cold, though. She massaged them for a short while.</p><p>“How are you?” </p><p>Again, his voice made the pearl haired woman jump. He seemed to have such silent stillness when he did not speak. Or it was possible she was on edge. She was not certain. </p><p>“Oh,” Isteţime regarded her hands as she faced towards him, “they’ll be fine. Just need warming up.”</p><p>The man set down his sandpaper and frowned at her working fingers. </p><p>“I mean how you yourself are doing, Eira.”</p><p>She wanted him to say her name again. </p><p>“I,” she breathed, surprised to see concern on his face, “I’m fine, thank you.”</p><p>“And those? Are they bothering you?”</p><p>“Um,” Isteţime felt her skin prickle when he stepped closer. “Prickly.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I, yes.” She gave in. “Yes, they’re bothering me quite a bit, right now. More than they usually do.”</p><p>Sir Van der Eretein’s expression turned into a sneer, and Isteţime took a step back from him. </p><p>“Excuse me.” </p><p>His deep voice echoed in through the solarium as he walked out of it. Isteţime wasn’t sure of what to do, but she realized that she really, truly, did not want to upset him further. She thought his eyes had looked different, just then.</p><p>“Fantastic,” she mumbled to herself, walking her bag of coursework to the carved, wooden lounge and proceeded to splay herself upon it. “I’m hallucinating.”</p><p>Taking out her text on the incident in Beauclair, she opened it to the ladder third of its binding. She was relieved to soon be done with it. </p><p> </p><p>It had only been a matter of minutes before her mentor strolled back in, looking disheveled. His long strides took him to his vase, to the sandpaper, and then to a stool positioned across from her. </p><p>Isteţime tried to read, but she kept, out of her peripherals, seeing the man look up at her. It was not the same as the gawking of the wagon driver to her, somehow.</p><p>Then, she felt her face redden. She had forgotten. </p><p>“I take it you must know a great deal about this all,” she held up the book. “Dandelion told me that you’d been living in Toussaint at the time. It’s all rather terrifying.”</p><p> For a moment, the man seemed to be frozen, and the woman's hair went on end. She peered over her shoulder, turning around at the glass enclosure, as if trying to locate what was making her feel hunted. </p><p>The man spoke. </p><p>“I was there, yes. In the city when it was struck by chaos and fear.”</p><p>“You were in the city?” Isteţime rotated back, looking at him gravely. The woman could feel her too aware heart beating quicker in her chest. She couldn’t quite place his expression as he watched her. </p><p>There was something in his stillness that made her uneasy. Yet, her brows puckered in utmost relief.</p><p>“I’m so glad you made it out of there okay.” Her eyes wandered to his large, partially gloved hands. </p><p>“Are you?”</p><p>Sir Van der Eretein’s deep voice was barely audible. He took a deep breath, the breadth of his chest rising to nearly his chin. He exhaled, and the room relaxed. “I am sure you have thoughts on the Beast himself.”</p><p>Isteţime sat up, trying not to look at him. </p><p>“Naturally I have some, yes.”</p><p>The large, dark haired man cocked his head at his protege. There was a jarring and unexpected sadness in her voice. Her hazel green eyes met his, and the man became smaller, somehow. The pitch of his head increased, as if she were some trinket.</p><p>“I think, perhaps, that I would like to know these thoughts.” </p><p>“You probably would not.” Isteţime’s frown grew. <em> Do not cry. </em> “I’m afraid I don’t think the man was much of a monster.”</p><p>“He killed hundreds of people.”</p><p>Isteţime could see out of the corner of her eye how the woodcarver’s angular body went rigid as he spoke the words. </p><p>“I’m so sorry that you had experienced it.”</p><p>“How can you believe that he is not a monster?”</p><p>The tone of his voice was growing dark and unshapely, and Isteţime again felt the hairs on her arms prickle. </p><p>“We don’t need to talk about it.”</p><p>He stood.</p><p>“You will tell me.”</p><p>She always knew herself to be a monumental cryer. </p><p>“Don’t bully me,” she stood, and realized the space between them was barely.</p><p>His nostrils flared, and the silver haired woman remembered his height when she found herself barely eye level to them.</p><p>His scent.</p><p>“I’m sorry that you experienced that tragedy. I can’t imagine what it would be like to witness. To fear for your life. But I’ve spent a lot of time forming the things others call monsters. That’s all. So many of them from nothing but a pillar over the years,” Isteţime’s voice relaxed, and she again sat, rubbing her temple with her aching hands, “and you know what?I say it’s all hasty generalization. That vampire, that man had a life before all of it happened. He was sought out because he was not human, and used because of it. The books are incredibly biased and written by a human, from their perspective and they weren’t <em> even there. </em>” </p><p>She was getting tired, and her mentor had sat, looking away from her. The tension in her had subsided. </p><p>“Do you create sculptures of monsters to invoke fear or inspire disgust? I don’t.” Isteţime was surprised it came out a bit of a huff.</p><p>“I cannot believe that.”</p><p>“Why not? Why do you do it? The diversity of life is beautiful. I for one cherish it, and I mourn the man, the circumstances, and the city that fell to the greed of a few, terrible <em> humans </em>.”</p><p>“It hurts to think about her.” </p><p>“What?” The tone of his voice made Isteţime sit up and look at him. “Oh, yes. Sorry. I hadn’t given her much thought before, but, you’re right, Mister Van der Eretein. It <em> does </em> hurt to think about her.”</p><p>Isteţime sulked in her seat, feeling her nose tingle.</p><p>“All of this talk about it and I still have about half of the book to read, yet.”</p><p>Sir Van der Eretein watched her work her hands, his expression unreadable.</p><p>“You do not believe your own words, Eira. This, I guarantee you.”</p><p>The dark haired man’s voice was thick. He stood, taking his leave. </p><p> </p><p>The young woodcarver chose to read by the fire for a short while. Her mentor checked on her once, frowning at her hands and the way she had her aubergine shawl wrapped about her.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>That night the silver haired woman’s bed was colder than she imagined it could become. Upon waking in the morning, she laid in it for a long while. Mornings as chill as this did not encourage her to leave the blankets. She had not been this cold since Velen, with her mother, and with the wild cries of long estranged dogs. She had had a dream of a monster lurking outside her window. Perhaps it was a dream of the Beast of Beauclair himself coming to prove her wrong. <br/>
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</p><p>Recollections of how boldly she’d spoken to her master woodcarver the evening prior flooded back to student. </p><p>“Fuck,” she sighed, her voice husky as she unwrapped her long limbs from the mound of wool. Her eyes scanned the parchment on the makeshift bedside table, a letter from her mother. She grabbed it, and threw her aubergine shawl over her favorite bed shirt. One that would unfortunately have to be replaced with another made of fabric more suitable for this cold, she unenthusiastically decided, as she dotted the keys of the stairs, making her way through the cottage. There was no sight of him.</p><p>The pearl haired woman pulled her scarf tighter around herself, trying to ignore the way the notes of his scent lingered in her memory. In the way the memory seemed to actualize itself in parts of her body she did not readily associate with smelling. <br/>
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</p><p>Then, the student tried ignore how this meant she associated such things with <em>him.</em></p><p>Isteţime was shivering on her walk from the outhouse to a small pond where she washed her hands, to the garden where she picked vegetables for the rest of this week’s end stay. </p><p>The sky was a magnificent powder blue at the horizon. Her green hazel eyes caught it here and there between the trunks of the trees. The earth was hard but somehow soft and malleable. Her host, she thought, was very much like the soil of his garden in this way. Isteţime wondered if he was aware that it needed to be tilled. </p><p>“Do you enjoy the garden?”</p><p>Isteţime jumped from the clumsy sound of his deep voice, just as she was standing to walk back inside. She watched as the tall, dark haired man adroitly caught three acorn squash one after the other. </p><p>Isteţime let out a great laugh from it. </p><p>“That was exceedingly impressive.” The silver haired woman became chipper in the airy opportunity of morning. His presence brought her to the immediate now. As she grabbed the last of the fallen green beans scattered around the toes of Mister Van der Eretein’s black boots, she heard him let out a deep, rich chuckle. She hoped this meant he wasn’t upset with her, and felt the warmth of his laughter in her chest.</p><p>She felt it where her body recalled his musky scent. </p><p>“Will we till your garden?” Isteţime tried to change her mind’s clandestine wandering, standing up to meet the man’s icy blue gaze, inches away from her.</p><p>His lip curved up, slightly. </p><p>“Till it together?”</p><p>“Yes,” she replied. She had not intended to be this close to him, and when he spoke, she was hit with his sweet and inviting breath. Her saliva traded for molasses as it worked its way down her throat. “I, um,” she looked away from those strikingly beautiful eyes. Those curious eyes, but only found the narrowness of his waist in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders. </p><p>The acorn squash dwarfed by the size of his hands. </p><p>She closed her eyes. </p><p>“Yes. Till it. It needs air. A lightness. The dark density of it now only works to suffocate the life you’re trying to grow in it, Mister Van der Eretein.” </p><p>“You are speaking of my garden?”</p><p>Isteţime blushed, and she opened her eyes to see that this was a genuine question. Posed by her mentor who wore a genuine expression. So genuine, in fact, that the silver haired woman began laughing at what would have been a very funny joke. Something about it ignited the fires of some lost childish joy inside her, and, upon opening her eyes this time from laughter, saw the last traces of a smile on his face. </p><p>His eyes were dancing about her features, and Isteţime was not mistaken in her hunch that he had not known exactly why she was laughing. The woman’s green-hazel eyes fell about his handsome mouth, then, just as he closed it. </p><p>He had sharp teeth. </p><p>Her hairs were rising again, and quickly Isteţime lifted the lip of her shirt, where she had rounded up the other vegetables, for him to place the dwarfed acorn squash in his hands. <em> His very large hands.  </em></p><p>It was then Isteţime realized her aubergine shawl had slid form her shoulder, of course. Her mentor's eyes didn’t dart away from the form of her. In fact they took her in, getting softer as they did. </p><p>Then he looked heartbreakingly sad, and she looked away. </p><p>“I,” he hesitated, and she could hear the breathing through his nose before she felt him gently nudge her by the small curve of her back, in the direction of the cottage. </p><p>When she reached the door she held it for him, but upon looking back, saw that he was gone. </p><p>"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck," Isteţime shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs, feeling lightheaded. Her hands hurt more than they had in a long time. Her heart was racing. She thought she'd packed her book on vampires but couldn't find it in her bag. She scurried down the stairs to grab her book on the Beast of Beauclair but that, too, had gone missing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."</p><p>"Eira? What is this?"</p><p>The deep voice was panicked, and in her body’s crumpling she was caught by him. He looked as afraid as she felt. Her medicine was in her bag. Her eyelids were heavy.</p><p>“In my bag.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>Isteţime pointed to the staircase, and her mentor very quickly picked her up and set her on the daybed. </p><p>When the silver haired woman woke, night had fallen. Her head no longer aching. She felt something beneath her side and reached for it in the cushion of the day bed. It was her book on the happenings in Toussaint. </p><p>A warm hand rested on her forehead. </p><p>“You had a fever.” His voice was thick and observational. “Why?”</p><p>Isteţime blinked, and peered up at the man when he removed his hand. She frowned. His face looked different about his eyes. They looked nearly bloodshot. </p><p>Suddenly the woman had a very interesting pit in her stomach. </p><p>His hand went back to her forehead, as if her lack of answer in a few short moments was an indication that the fever had returned. A peculiar misconception, she had to admit. </p><p>She wasn’t sure if his sharp teeth would fit into that same category, however. </p><p>Isteţime reached for his hand, “I’m sick, and I’ve been sick. It goes away. I won’t die.”</p><p>The man let out something of a rumble. </p><p>“May I sit?”</p><p>“Yes,” Isteţime groaned, “if you would lift my legs, you could set yourself under my knees. They hurt.”</p><p>“Your knees?”</p><p>“Every joint in my body hurts.”</p><p>“Isteţime, what is this?”</p><p>The woman felt her fever dancing around her. Mister Van der Eretein positioned himself, as she had requested and rather clumsily, beneath her knees. She fell asleep. </p><p>When she woke, he was still sitting beneath her knees. The woman felt a smile form on her mouth. He had a pensive look on his face, and was reading the book on the Toussaint incident. The hand of his that was not holding the book, was massaging her shin very lightly. So lightly it almost tickled.</p><p>“Will you call me Isteţime?” </p><p>“I will call you anything.”</p><p>Isteţime could feel his answer in her toes. It was a rather particular answer.</p><p>“You do not call me Dettlaff, and I,” he hesitated, “and I want you to.”</p><p>“Aren’t titles important?”</p><p>“I do not think so.”</p><p>“Neither do I.”</p><p>A trace of a smile lined his lips, as if this news came as a great comfort to him. Isteţime wanted to call him by his name right then, but it felt as though the entirety of her body was screaming for her to run away from him. The pearl haired woman closed her eyes, thinking she might sleep. When she opened them, she realized the man was looking at her expectantly. </p><p>“I think Dettlaff is a devastatingly beautiful name.”</p><p>He smiled more widely, and at her. A chill ran down her spine. He looked unreasonably alarmed and feral, as if he were not physically made for smiling. </p><p>The thought tore into the woman’s heart.</p><p>“Do you mean this?” He asked.</p><p>“Of course I do.” </p><p>The more this man spoke, the more it led Isteţime to wonder. The more she wondered, the more frightened she became. The more frightened or in pain she became, the more upset this man got, it seemed. </p><p>When Isteţime looked at him, again, he was reading the book. </p><p>“Why do you put yourself through that?” </p><p>“I thought it could make it hurt less.” </p><p>“Oh.” She had not expected such a blunt and honest answer. </p><p>“I think it does.” </p><p>“That makes me happy.”</p><p>Sir Van der Eretein adjusted his seat. She watched the tall, dark haired man read. She very much liked his profile. </p><p>“Isteţime,” he whispered this. </p><p>The woman found she liked this very much.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>The man’s body went still, again. Isteţime was becoming more and more tired. It was then she noticed it was again sunset. </p><p>“What day is it?”</p><p>“I had sent the man and his wagon back when he came for you.” </p><p>Isteţime groaned. </p><p>“He would not have taken care in transporting you.” </p><p>She shifted, “How could you tell?”</p><p>Mister Van der Eretein set down the book, his jaw tensing. </p><p>“You don’t have to answer.” The woman reached out and touched his forearm, causing him to flinch. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It is fine.” </p><p>He carefully stood from her, setting her legs back down on the daybed. </p><p>He walked up the stairs of his cottage. </p><p>Isteţime thought his voice had certainly not sounded fine at all.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Drift to Where the Covered Tree Has No Leaves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Isteţime Eira Stelhet, at the last minute, invites her mentor to a school event that she will be attending with her mother.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you have constructive criticisms or general blabbin’, lemme know! I love hearing from y’all!! Hope you enjoy this lengthy chapter and find a little escape from your day to day!! :)</p><p>For anyone reading my other fic, it'll be updated within the next few days!  &lt;3</p><p>CW’s in the end notes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>He wants the minute and secret reflection between them, the depth of field minimal, their foreignness intimate like two pages of a closed book.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The woman Isteţime Eira had grown from being a sick girl<em>. </em> Her mother, Prevedea, remembers the days when her daughter was healthy better than Isteţime could manage to recall. She’d been young, walking for a year, when one night she rose to a fever of such severity her skin was difficult to touch, and wouldn’t respond to simple questions, nor her given name. The woman needed to borrow her neighbor’s mule, who by good nature offered to take her and Isteţime himself through the sinister woods and marsh of Velen to Crow’s Perch, where a sawbone resided. The sawbone had no clear answer as to why her child suffered such ague. After the initial flare up of Isteţime’s slumbrous predicament, her hair had turned the most peculiar shade of pearled silver. It was like Moonstone. Like Snow.</p><p>Like Eira.</p><p>In Isteţime's second year at University she suffered a bout of fatigue, aches, and fevers that spanned the better of her spring semester, and were so intense that the woman went to the infirmary. There, she was diagnosed with a condition referred to as <em> Wolf’s Bite. </em></p><p>The fevers, the pain around her body where it most sits against itself, and general sleepiness brought on by the condition were by no means novel to the silver haired woman. </p><p>In the quiet cottage, after a night of finding each others’ names, the two occupants sat in separate rooms, going about their business. To Isteţime, this business included waking up to a gloriously sunny morning and remembering that her mother's letter sitting on the bedside table remained unread. </p><p>The immediate thought after picking up the parchment was that she had left the letter <em> downstairs </em> the night before. She had also left <em> herself </em> downstairs the night before. </p><p>“He must have carried me,” she whispered to herself, finding that her bottom lip had slipped between her right canine teeth. Using the nail of her thumb, she cut the letter open. <br/><br/></p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em> Eira,  </em>
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    <em> O’ honey! You deserve a gift such as that, and what a nice one it sounds! I could not be happier for you, dear. This mentor seems like a good and kind man, to take you in on such short notice and to craft such things for his students! Tell me more about what he is like. If he is irresponsible or unduly charitable, do be weary, sweetie. But ho! I will have to visit to see these fine things, will I not? </em>
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  <p> </p>
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    <em> Love you to a moon’s dark and return,  </em>
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    <em> Mom </em>
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</blockquote><p>“What an absolute absurdity she is,” the tone of the woman’s voice was unmistakably loving, and she smelled the parchment before placing it in her bag delicately. </p><p>A searing in her shoulder caused the woman to lay back flat, and though she had bit her knuckle to stifle the sound of her pain, knew her gasp had traveled. Footsteps came from the room next door; her mentor’s room. A great many more footsteps than the room was large enough to fit. </p><p>“He must be pacing,” Isteţime rose, feeling quite lightheaded and unfit to do so, and began packing her things, before having to lay back down on the bed entirely. “I should wonder why.  What, with me staying around here like this.” </p><p>Dettlaff van der Eretein’s cottage was much warmer than it had been the night before and any night before that for as long as the cottage had been standing. She could not readily tell the difference due to her fever, however. </p><p>The sound of a door opening on the ground’s level had the turning, circular footsteps of Mister Van der Eretein traveling to and down the stairs. Isteţime sat up, looking out the window, and her heart sank. There was no carriage or cart. It wasn’t Dandelion. </p><p>It wasn’t until Isteţime sat with her back against the wooden seascapes of Skellige that it occurred to her how odd it was that <em> anyone at all </em> be here without a wagon or carriage. She decided to make an investigation. </p><p>The air smelled heavily of basil, and at the top of the steps the tall, silver haired woman heard her name. She froze. </p><p> </p><p>Everything had seemed to be going smoothly to the barber-surgeon known as Emiel Regis. He’d come in the night two days prior and spoken to Dettlaff in regards to how the woman believed the Beast of Beauclair was a victim, a sentiment his friend found to be ridiculous. Then, of course, Dandelion gave him word that his student’s wagon had returned without it’s intended cargo the following day. </p><p>Regis had expected his friend of something terrible, but had traveled to find the cottage quiet. The smell of sickness was wafting down from the level above him. Not a new sick, he thought, only a reclaimed one. The man believed he’d noticed traces on Eira prior. </p><p>Dettlaff walked down the steps slowly and one at a time. His eyes flickered upwards and back. An interesting floral, wooden bookmark was pinched in the sketchbook and journal he held in his hand. </p><p>“Glasair bheannach?” Regis asked his friend the species of wildflower. </p><p>“It is,” Dettlaff responded dryly.</p><p>“You cannot keep Eira here, Dettlaff.” </p><p>“She is sick, Regis.” The man’s voice was stony. “It was unfitting for her to ride in a cart for hours.”</p><p>“I’m sure she would have made the journey just fine,” Regis replied, eyes once again wandering to the carved bookmark. “Tell me, did she make that for you?”</p><p>The tall, dark haired man stared at the other.</p><p>“You see to her, then.” Dettaff replied, staring down at his friend with bared teeth on his way past to the door. “It matters little to me.” </p><p>Isteţime hurried back to her room, and was only barely under the covers by the time the man named Emiel Regis’ began knocking. There was something more to his scent than merely basil, she thought, as she called for him to enter. </p><p>After asking permission, he sat at the bedside. He had a habit of gripping the leather strap of his bag, and the woman took notice. He was apologizing for his intrusion when he finally reached his explanation for it. </p><p>“Your mentor would like for me to perform a bit of a check up,” he shrugged unenthusiastically. </p><p>“Dettlaff does?”</p><p>“So the two of you are on a first name basis, then,” he said, grabbing for an odd instrument with ear pieces. “Good. ‘Mister Van der Eretein’ becomes quite a mouthful, I imagine.”</p><p>“You imagine correctly, Mister Regis,” the silver haired woman replied. “I assure you, however, that I am fine.”</p><p>“How should that be so? You have a fever, and are experiencing pain.”</p><p>“...how did you know that?”</p><p>“Why, Dettlaff told me.”<br/>Isteţime knew that to be a lie, having eavesdropped on their conversation like a child, and all. </p><p>Emiel Regis was prodding a place below her jaw for swollen lymph nodes when he asked, “when were you diagnosed?”</p><p>“A few years ago.” </p><p>The man seemed displeased with this. His nose twitched in a way that made Isteţime think he was irritated. </p><p>“But I first had a flare when I was of only three.” </p><p>Emiel Regis looked satisfied by this. “Ah, as I suspected, no less.” </p><p>He spoke with a tight lip. A guarded mouth. Through the feverish memories from the day prior, Isteţime recalled <em> sharp teeth. </em></p><p>“Mister Regis-”</p><p>“Just Regis, please.”</p><p>“Regis, did you walk?”</p><p>The man’s face remained indifferent, though for a moment, as he was removing his stethoscope, his hand slowed. </p><p>“I enjoy the weather, and I was visiting in Erde, where my mule is.” </p><p>“Oh,” Isteţime smiled, finding herself somewhat charmed, “a mule, you say?”</p><p>Regis shared in this smile, “I see I am not the only appreciator. What good fortune that we should find each other, then.”</p><p>The tall woman very much liked something about the man. After he secured his two instruments in his bag, and after they spoke of how he had named his mule affectionately after one he had lost, he looked at the young woman with sobriety. </p><p>“Do you feel able to make the trip to Oxenfurt?” His eyes darted to the window and back, nearly so quickly the silver haired woman missed it.</p><p>Isteţime felt a very curious sinking feeling as she confirmed to Emiel Regis that she indeed did. </p><p>
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</p><p>The way home had been uneventful and uncomfortable. Mister Dandelion’s whistling and good humor was now so missed that Isteţime thought she would actively work to befriend him upon returning to the Academy. Though it had been sincere when spoken, Isteţime never entirely felt well, and to most personal standards would have under no circumstances been ‘able’ to make the trip back. She simply had learned to live with the pain, and she knew she needed to return to her classes. </p><p>Isteţime also did not want to be a burden to her mentor, and upon arriving back to Oxenfurt, bid farewell to Emiel Regis and his mule, and the small wagon attached. She walked to her flat and stayed not in her bed, but in the mound of velvety pillows and soft woven throws kept bundled in her Oriel corner nook. The woman watched the sky bleed red and orange onto the land colored hay from wither, before cooling to a subdued purple, where she found sleep amongst its twinkling eyes. </p><p>The school week trudged on. Isteţime had only missed a day’s worth of courses, and not even a very intensive one, yet discovered she had an unjust amount to catch up on. Rin and Jon had shared their notes with her, which helped the process. In a daze she wandered from intimate, wooden schoolrooms to large, fantastic lecture halls. The smell of musty books reminded her of the perceived oldness in her mentor, and his matured musk. The rounder beakers in her Agricultural Dye Methodology course, which took place on the third floor of the very charactered Wet Media VA building, were dust covered; around mid afternoon they would reflect the sun’s light and brought to mind her mentor’s eyes when lit with the flames of his fireplace. In the graduate woodcarvers workshop, where Isteţime and others of the same passion found refuge in their projects, the chisel’s she used caused her chest to ember.</p><p> </p><p>“You could have just written in the first memo that you’d be here,” Isteţime called up to the man dressed similar to that of a peacock. </p><p>“Ah, Eira! Exactly the woman I wanted to see!” The bard Dandelion stepped on a board high above the wooden platform, where he had been addressing several light fixtures, and by way of pulley system lowered himself to the stage itself. He bowed to her, then swept his arm out as if showcasing the display. “So? Whadda ya think?”</p><p>The wooden stage was set on the slope of the University’s largest sward, so that the audience would be gazing down at it. The backdrop was the scattered, tudor living quarters of undergraduates and the vast expanse of cliffs seen on the southwest end of campus. </p><p>“It’s beautiful, Mister Dandelion.” </p><p>The bard smiled, beckoning the woman to walk with him, and she followed. </p><p>“Ever considered acting?” He asked, looking her up and down. </p><p>“I have,” Isteţime replied honestly, “I can’t say that I’m any good, though it was fun.”</p><p>The bard appeared surprised by this information, and sat on an iron garden bench. His jacket was embroidered with several small gourds, and it made the woman smile as she joined him. </p><p>“Well, if you ever have the time to, please audition.” The man’s smile slipped from his face. “Really. We could use it.” </p><p>Isteţime stifled a laugh from the bluntness of it. </p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p>The man looked like he was about to broach a difficult subject, and shifted his weight in more ways than Isteţime thought possible on the bench before finally asking his difficult question.</p><p>“Do you wish to continue seeing your mentor?”</p><p>This surprised the woman. </p><p>“What? Of course I should want that. Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>“Ah, no reason. Standard protocol to ask, really.” </p><p>The man looked too relieved by this ‘standard protocol’.</p><p>“Either Regis or I will be taking you to and from Mister Van der Eretein’s home, henceforth.”</p><p>“How should I be so lucky? As it were, Mister Dandelion, I’ve missed your whistling.”</p><p>The bard beamed, “Have you, now?”</p><p>“I have.” </p><p>The silver haired woman looked out over the river and a cold settled in her fingers. She wondered about the peculiar change in protocol.</p><p>“May I ask why?”</p><p>“To ensure your <em> safety.” </em> The man replied, sounding like he found it utterly unnecessary. </p><p>“Ah, I see.” The woman felt no more clarity on the topic. </p><p>“Regis will also be visiting the mornings of your departure to ensure you are, er, physically up for the journey.”</p><p>The woodcarver looked at him earnestly.</p><p>“Mister Dandelion, I’m surprised by this.”</p><p>“It’s a bumpy and cold ride.”</p><p>“I am perfectly fine with making that assessment myself.”</p><p>“Mister Van der Eretein insists on it, Eira.” </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>The bench seemed harder to the woman now than it had a moment ago. She bit her lip, feeling her eyes moisten. Isteţime hadn’t known she’d made him that upset by it all. When the bard seemed to begin shifting uncomfortably once more, the silver haired woman squinted at the fluffy clouds in the bright sky. </p><p>“I suppose my overstaying was quite burdensome to him.” </p><p>“Nonsense,” Dandelion chuckled, sounding nervous and untrue, “he probably just doesn’t want any harm to come to his protege.”</p><p>She swallowed down the memory of his words to Regis. <em> It matters little to him. </em> Her health. Isteţime tugged on her shawl. </p><p>“Right.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The week’s end had arrived and the woman Isteţime waited patiently by her door. Flares in general lasted a few weeks if not given proper rest, and she had not been restful. It was a mild flare, however. She mostly slept and felt terrible when she came back from classes. Her friends were all very disappointed that she was unfit to participate in an apple slinging contest, and by friends the culprit was namely Stefan. </p><p>Staring out the window of her kitchenette, Isteţime sat upon her island’s high stool waiting for the kindly man named Regis. The ceilings of her flat were high, and she was testing their acoustics with song. Nellie, her roommate's cat, perched on her lap. The woman had a curious feeling the kitten knew she was sick. </p><p>She was hoping that Emiel Regis would not be as keen to her current state as the cat, though she could feel that her skin was just slightly warm, in that everything around her was just slightly <em> too cold. </em></p><p>Three brisk knocks at the door came, before Emiel Regis walked in. He looked like he was in a very chipper mood. The tall, silver haired woman guided him to the chair, where he performed her check up. He informed her that she was too sick to make the journey, and before being able to protest, he simply left. </p><p>Isteţime sat, wondering how she was going to finish her sculptures with these new health standards. </p><p> </p><p>That weekend, she had gone to a bonfire with Sloane, out of lack of anything to do. After their date to Ida’s Cafe in Oxenfurt, the man did not seem as appealing to the woman- not that there was anything particularly wrong with him. He was rather pleasant, it was true. He spoke a lot, she noticed. There was a certain lack of response she had in his movements, in his speaking, in the smell of him - which she did not find overtly pleasant, when she looked into his eyes, was able to hold the conversation as if looking at the back wall of a hippodrome while giving a speech. </p><p>“It’s called Chemistry,” Rin would say during a night in her tower, when Isteţime’s fever was running high and her friend wanted her to rest well. “So you don’t have it.”</p><p>The silver haired woman was unable to argue against this. Still, she had agreed to attend the next bonfire with the blonde haired man, were she yet unable to venture to the cottage in the woods. Rin expressed that she thought it best her friend Eira stay in Oxenfurt until she fully recovered the flare, and in her heart of hearts, Isteţime knew it was the right thing to do. </p><p> </p><p>The woman was stiffly making her way to Teratology when the short and freckled Rin caught up with her. She was alone. </p><p>“Heya, Eira.”</p><p>“Where’s Jon?” Isteţime asked, looking around the leaf scattered pathway. </p><p>“On trip to the Imperial Academy,” she laughed, skipping briskly in her patterned skirts to keep up with her taller friend. “He smells of red iron so often I forget he is part linguist.”</p><p>Isteţime barked a laugh, agreeing completely. The breeze began playing with her aubergine shawl, and she tugged it more closely around her jawline. “I’m truly surprised he is not also a baker, to be truthful.”</p><p>Rin bound ahead, kicking a pile of leaves with her airy slippers, and opened the door to the large, dark building. “Your mother is coming this week’s end, is she not?”</p><p>“Yes,” the two wound through the labyrinth of framed hallways. “I suppose if I cannot do anything useful, I might as well have my mother around to do nothing of use with me.”</p><p>The freckled woman’s shoes clacked on the floor. </p><p>“Your mentor truly will not come here to guide you? Even if you are this sick?”</p><p>The tall silver haired woman hesitated at the door to the hall, “It seems not. I wrote to him three days ago, and had Dandelion inform Regis so as not to waste his time.” </p><p>The short brunette felt sorry for having asked. “You could invite him to the Oraculi Evening this weekend. It<em> is </em>specifically for mentors and students…”</p><p>“I mentioned it.”</p><p>As they made themselves comfortable in the darkwood lecture hall, halfly towards the top of it’s bowled seating, class began without Stefan coming to join. The silver haired woman looked around, and Rin, in a hushed tone, informed her that the young man has been sullen ever since she, Isteţime, began seeing his older brother Sloane. </p><p>“Oh,” is what the tall sculptor replied. </p><p>The lecturer went about her descriptions of Ekimmaras. Isteţime was jotting down notes when she heard the professor unroll another parchment. They were beginning higher vampires early, starting with Nosferats. They did not speak of their human forms, Isteţime noticed, and felt disappointed by  this. </p><p>She thought about Dettlaff van der Eretein’s teeth. </p><p>By the end of the lecture, Isteţime asked that Rin go ahead to lunch without her. Running a hand through her silver hair, she approached the base of the hall, but by the time she had made her way through the sea of students, the professor she was hoping to gain insight from had disappeared. The woodcarver would have to look up the office number of Lecturer Korta Lem, and sought it out in the main office just inside the front gate, where a pleasant man named Minva sat setting an inked and re-inked stamp onto rolls of parchment one after the other. The tall, stoic woman knew them to be acceptance scrolls. </p><p>The woman had to stop in the graduate’s workshop and complete carvings for her godling statue’s base - something she was more than grateful to be able to do while recovering from the flare, before she located the office of Professor and Lecturer Korta Lem. It was in Casterly Building, a much older and creakier structure than S Clemen’s Hall, and one that the silver haired woman had absolutely adored. Were she ever to have an office, it would be in the impossibly small and cramped corner of campus in Casterly Building. </p><p>“There is nothing odd about this,” Isteţime assured herself, as she found office fifteen and a half, wondering how in the world they could ever fit thirty offices in the place. She approached a small door that looked as if it could hold no auditory secrets from within if it tried, and knocked gently, as if she feared it might crumble away otherwise. </p><p>“One moment!” </p><p>The familiar voice coming from within was much livelier than the tall woman was used to. When the door creaked open, the woman took a step back, as it opened the <em> wrong way </em> into the impossibly narrow hall. Standing before her was the mid-sized woman and her curly hair, with her thick rimmed glasses, staring up at her. Professor Korta Lem. </p><p>“Oh, well then, come on in, Miss.” </p><p>She eyed Isteţime’s chisels. </p><p>“Sorry to bother you so near to week’s end-” the student began. </p><p>“Nonsense! Nonsense. It is why I am here, after all. Eira, isn’t it? I’ve known you for a while now, have I not? I have seen you in nearly every one of my classes, at some point.” </p><p>“Yes,” Isteţime sat on a hard, rickety wooden chair opposite the woman’s desk. Flowers lined the corner windows behind the desk on the outside. The hill beside the building took up most of the panels of glass and drowned the view. </p><p>“I’m rather surprised that you’re still even in school, I am.” Professor Korta Lem added with a thud, as she jovially threw herself into her own chair. “You must be in a masters program, I take it, Ms. Eira?”</p><p>The professor said <em> Ms. </em> with uncertainty. The tall woman recognized the tone.</p><p>“Ms. is correct, and I’m currently aiming to be. Graduate, for now.” </p><p>Korta Lem steepled her fingers, eyes peering at the student over the rim of her glasses. “Well then, what is it?” </p><p>“Right. I have a few questions concerning the curriculum.” </p><p>“Of which course?”</p><p>“Teratology of Monstrous Forms.” </p><p>“Ah, yes. What are they?” The woman looked eager to answer, and Isteţime suddenly found herself wondering how long she might be in the small room. At the same time, she found herself rather excited to listen to the woman talk at length, if the state of her office were to be any indication of the quality, as it was covered in diagrams, figurines and specimens of various <em> monster </em>.</p><p>“Well, I was hoping we would cover physiological differences in higher vampires and humans…”</p><p>“Which we do, of course,” she smiled, expression becoming wild in a way the woodcarver found endearing. “You don’t look pleased by this answer.”</p><p>“No, I am, just,”</p><p>“Just? You want answers, I see.” The woman stretched with her hands above her head, and kicked both her feet out in a wide V beneath the table. “Ask away. I have a free afternoon, kiddo.”</p><p>The silver haired woman snorted, and Korta Lem’s smile widened. </p><p>“Okay, then. Thank you. I was, well. I was wondering which species of higher vampires have sharp teeth? I also was wondering, since you’re the main campus authority on it,”</p><p>“Ahh,” the woman sucked in air as if it were very sweet and agreeable, “<em> flattery. </em> Love the stuff.”</p><p>“It’s true, else I wouldn’t be sitting here.” </p><p>“Oh, you’re too good to me.”</p><p>The silver haired woman again, snorted, and again, Korta Lem smiled wider.</p><p>“What other humanoid species have sharp teeth?” </p><p>“Someone is too lazy to read their text.”</p><p>“You withheld the textbooks for higher vampires and humanoid monsters from the library so that we would not work too far in advance.” </p><p>Korta smacked the table, “that I did! Ha… Good. You were paying attention.” Isteţime sat back, having felt jarred by the loud noise. The professor hadn’t noticed. </p><p>“Well,” the lecturer massaged her chin, looking out her window where the hill did not obstruct the view, “Grave hags, greater mutants, sirens, knockers, occasionally godlings, goblins…”</p><p>“I mean creatures so human you wouldn’t know the difference save for maybe the teeth.” </p><p>The professor Korta Lem’s complexion appeared slightly different when she turned to face the student in her office chair. “Would you like to tell me why you are asking?”</p><p>She sniffed, and her eyes traveled to the young woman’s leather bound chisels. The woodcarver did not take notice.</p><p>Isteţime shifted in her seat, “I am only curious. I think the, er, nuance, if there were any, would be a complex thing to display.”</p><p>The woman stared at her, then looked visibly relaxed.</p><p>“Carving work, naturally.” She sat, “Unfortunately the only species you will have to pull inspiration from would be Higher Vampires.”</p><p>“Oh,” Isteţime felt herself blush, “Such as Katakans, Bruxae and the like?”</p><p>The lecturer shook her head, a smile returning to her face.</p><p>“Only True Higher Vampires walk in their human forms bearing sharp teeth.” </p><p>The silver haired woman swallowed. After the two of them spoke about how best to display this, the Lecturer Korta Lem giving ideas nearing the ridiculous- all suggestions the pearl haired woman thoroughly enjoyed- the student stood and said goodbye, walking out into the now dusk, in the direction of home, feeling a chill that may have something to do with her low grade fever, or the breeze of the night. </p><p>
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</p><p>Dettlaff van der Eretein lounged in his workshop on the handsome piece of wood furniture carved by him, reading a note that had just arrived by way of an unenthused young man in an Assistant to Academy at Oxenfurt-Postmaster cap and riding in University cart. He had been claiming the most unreal and beautiful woman gave him several crowns to deliver the message he bore. The surly woodcarver had merely stared at the man when asked for her name, and the man had then indeed thought better of it.</p><p>The message on the parchment read:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
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    <em> Dear Dettlaff,  </em>
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    <em> I have decided to stay this week’s end in Oxenfurt on my own accord, without the diagnosis of Regis. If I get enough rest, I am sure I will be in good enough health to resume our sessions, without fear of my overstaying with burdensome sickness. For that, I do apologize.  </em>
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    <em> This week’s end there is the Oraculi event- an evening and a day where graduate students and their mentors share time together as well as with peers outside of the otherwise purely academic setting. It is being held in the old Codger’s Quarry, west of Oxenfurt. I believe they’ll be decorating it. There will be bonfires and dancing, mostly. Some light entertainment. Food, possibly in abundance. My mother is coming to visit and I will be taking her there. I don’t believe I’ve spoken of her much to you, but she is very lighthearted and really quite lovely.  </em>
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    <em> I would have thought to invite you sooner, but I had not known until a few days ago that I would not be at your workshop while the festivities took place. </em>
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    <em> I do very much hope to resume our sessions next week’s end, </em>
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    <em> - Isteţime Stelhet </em>
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</blockquote><p>The dark haired man’s eyes ran over the first part of the letter, as they had several times prior. He then pinched the crease of the parchment with lengthy, adept fingers and handed it to the barber-surgeon sitting from him crosswise. </p><p>“What is the meaning of this, Regis?”</p><p>The shorter man barely had to look at the letter to guess what it had revealed. “It would have been anything but prudent to allow her to venture back and forth between this place and Oxenfurt while sick.” </p><p>“I agree,” Dettlaff replied simply. “You lied to me.”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Regis made an exasperated noise, setting down the letter. “I’m afraid I didn’t feel like <em> hoping </em> for your good nature to find it concurrent, my friend.”</p><p>“It was a ploy,” the last word lingered in a quiet snarl. “You do not believe I can handle a simple mentorship with a human. You watch me as if I were a pup.”</p><p>“This is correct.” Regis looked at his friend with concern. He did not wish to see him reduced back to the frightened and confused man he’d been. He had come this far. He would possibly never make a full recovery from the ordeal, Regis believed. “I do not believe you are ready for any of this, in fact. I told you this when you agreed to meet the wood carver, Dettlaff. I told you this when you agreed to take her on as a student. I know that you are lonely, friend, but are you so desperate for kinship to push it prematurely?” </p><p>Emiel Regis watched his friend’s brow tighten. The tall, dark haired man was beginning to look forlorn, and felt his face with the inside of his right hand’s palm. He felt the weightiness of it. “I will never be ready, Regis.” </p><p>This, at least, they could both agree upon. “What of the fact that the student is a woman?”</p><p>The man growled in a way Regis recognized. </p><p>“You couldn’t help but to craft her chisels?”</p><p>“Enough.” </p><p>“Now she’s gone and gifted you something as well,” Regis’ expression soured, “it does not mean the same to humans as it does to you.” </p><p>The dark haired man stood, “I said <em> enough </em>, Regis.”</p><p>Quickly, the sculptor walked to and through the door to his cottage, and the barber-surgeon doubted very much that he would simply find him walking about were he to go looking for him, now.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Oraculi </p><p>________________________________________</p><p> </p><p>
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</p><p>Prevedea was as kind a person as they came. Were it not for the fact that she resided in and refused to move from the unsympathetic countryside of Velen, Isteţime would see her more often. She was standing at the end of the bridge in the University’s entry courtyard, the sun becoming lower in the sky, when a head of pearl colored hair became visible over the heads of several others. </p><p>“Eira!” The woman called, and her daughter’s face popped into view, a smile breaking across it. </p><p>“Mom,” the silver haired woman ran to her mother, holding her, “I’ve missed you so much.” </p><p>The woman named Isteţime Eira then stood straight, looking down at the woman whose hair was slowly beginning to take on a color more similar to her own. “Here, I’ll show you the quarters they’ve lent us.” </p><p>Pushing against the tide of students busying themselves with the weekend, Isteţime led her mother to the northeastern most corner of the campus, where four, lone vernacularly styled townhouses sat upright and against each other. These were for guests, if you were lucky. The hierarchy of who was allowed to use them went as follows: Dean, chairperson, department head, professor, student. Were it not for Dandelion, Isteţime was certain that she would never have gotten one on such short notice. Gotten one at <em> all. </em></p><p>Just as they reached the row of houses, the silver haired woman pulled a magnificent, bronze key from her shawl and approached the third. Before she could place it in its destination, however, the door swung open. </p><p>“Eira! Already?” Dandelion was carrying a box of items. It looked heavy. “I had this place booked for my protege and their brother, but I guess he canceled on them last minute.” </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Mister Dandelion.”</p><p>The bard saw the woman’s mother and set the boxes down with a thud and immediately went to straighten himself.</p><p>“Forgive my manners! You must be Prevedea! Even lovelier than Eira had described.”</p><p>The woman blushed ever so slightly by the curly blonde man’s adulations.</p><p>“I should thank you kindly, sir…”</p><p>“Dandelion.”</p><p>“Why, what a beautiful way to be called, sir Dandelion.”</p><p>Now it was the bard’s cheeks that turned a rosy hue. </p><p>“Well,” Isteţime announced, “I’ll set your things inside, mother. Dandelion, you could join us, if you’d like?”</p><p>“I couldn’t possibly,” the man shrugged, sounding as if he very possibly could.</p><p>“Nay! Please do,” Prevedea encouraged, “I should like to jaw with the man my daughter speaks so highly of.”</p><p>“Then let us welcome the evening’s festivities early!” The bard clapped his hands, face the color of a lobster.</p><p>Isteţime had decided that she would get herself somewhat dolled up. Dolled up being that she would apply rouge, and add redness to her lip. Her hair she shook after washing, so that it bounced and curled into waves instead of being slicked back with oil or some other lipid. The townhouse was rather large, and there were three stories. The bedroom Isteţime chose being at the top, on the third story, and her mother’s being at the bottom, due to nothing more than their varying predilections.</p><p>She had just heard Dandelion bid farewell to her mother when she reached the bottom of the flight of stairs. They had been indulging in mead, Isteţime noticed, and chuckled at the way her mother’s head popped back in from behind the closing door. </p><p>“Well that was a <em> very </em> kind man, ho!” She smiled, nose stained pink from the alcohol. She looked the tall, silver haired woman up and down. “You are stunning, my Eira.” </p><p>“Ah, come off it, mom.” Isteţime grinned. “Are you ready to leave?”</p><p>“Been ready, yes. Don’t I look it?” The beautiful and greying Prevedea did a twirl, her green wool dress spinning in a sightly manner. </p><p>“Yes, you do.” </p><p> </p><p>Isteţime had been looking over her shoulders and around the woods on the ride to Codger’s Quarry. It was night, and dark, and somewhat chilly when the wagon pulled into the area of the event. Nearly one hundred lit lanterns illuminating the decorations caused Prevedea to gasp. Excitedly, she held her daughter’s arm, which was as it usually was, wrapped in her aubergine shawl. They shortly thereafter exited the wagon, and walked into the festivities.</p><p>It wasn’t long before the handsome, blonde haired Sloane approached the woodcarver and her mother. Prevedea looked at Isteţime with wide eyes, and began laughing. “Ah, go have fun, sweetie.”</p><p>So it was that the two danced, and yet, the pearl haired woman found herself looking around the dancefloor. Looking around the trays of food set out. Looking around the bonfires. At shadows. To the vast void of the dark sky. When she next sat, Sloane by her side, his mentor somewhere off finding his own merrimaking, Rin sitting her mother’s opposite having found them, Prevedea spoke. </p><p>“I thought you didn’t have your hopes up that he was coming, dear.” </p><p>Isteţime frowned. </p><p>“Who, Eira?”</p><p>“I invited my mentor.” </p><p>“Ahh,” The handsome blonde man replied, putting his arm around the lank woman, “the hermit. I very much doubt this would be his idea of fun, then.”</p><p>“It was last minute, as it were.” Isteţime looked at her companions, deciding they were doing just fine. “If you’ll excuse me, a moment.”</p><p>Many things come as disappointments and Isteţime had a long-time understanding of this. She worked her aching hands in the cold. Wishing that she would have brought more suitable clothing, suddenly. Bonfires were supposed to be warm, she thought, as she walked her way up the tall lip of the quarry. If only a moment’s solitude. As she gazed out on the scene, she could see that the bard Dandelion had walked from his post and over to her mother. </p><p>Isteţime froze, feeling her heart pounding in her chest when it had not been a moment prior. Her skin felt quite, <em> quite </em> prickly. </p><p>“Not enjoying the event?” The deep voice was closer than she’d expected, and she jumped. </p><p>The woodcarver turned on her heel, “Dettlaff?” </p><p>In the shadow directly behind her, she made out two very strikingly light blue eyes, and the man stepped into the soft light of the nearby sea of lanterns, allowing Isteţime to take in the cut of his jaw, and the way his oil slick black hair curled about his ears. She had not realized how she had missed seeing it.</p><p>Hesitantly, he took another step closer to the woman.</p><p>“Have you been sick?” </p><p>“I,” Isteţime swallowed as he approached, “yes, but it has not been severe.” </p><p>Her mentor nodded. She could feel her hair stand on end as she recalled what Korta Lem had told her. Her breathing quickened, and her heart started racing. </p><p>“Isteţime?” Dettlaff’s deep voice was concerned, and taking a step closer still, searched her with his piercing grey eyes. “Nothing in these woods will hurt you.” </p><p>The tall, pearl haired woman watched the man’s dark lips form the words. The tips of pointed teeth stuck out from behind them. Present as ever. Isteţime realized that she could no longer pretend that they were of a faulty, feverish memory. </p><p>“I didn’t think you would come.” She looked up at him, “I’m glad that you did.” </p><p>A small, closed smile formed on the man’s mouth, and it danced about his eyes as he looked at her. He nodded. </p><p>Then, once again, he started to look indescribably lost.. </p><p>“Dettlaff?”</p><p>Isteţime watched as he took a step backwards, back into the night, into the shadow. She caught his large hand in her own before he could disappear.</p><p>He smelled, to her, a refuge.</p><p>“I should very much like for you to stay with me, Dettlaff," the woman admitted, to her own surprise.</p><p>The tall man’s chest began moving beneath his leather jacket.</p><p>“Would you accompany me to the dance?” </p><p>Mister Van der Eretein’s piercing, icy eyes ran up the pearl haired woman’s body. His voice did not sound altogether happy when he replied. “I will.” </p><p> </p><p>They made their way back down to the event and were shortly back under the light of the lanterns. Eyes fell on Isteţime and her guest almost immediately, and she blushed. She located her mother across the way and started towards her. Isteţime noticed that when her mentor walked behind her, a chill ran down her spine. </p><p>“Are you cold?” His deep voice was like velvet. </p><p>“Yes, admittedly.”</p><p>The tall man gently caught her by the wrist, just as they reached the middle of the dance floor, turning her around to face him. Somehow, none of the dancers were bothering them. It was as if an invisible barrier was set five feet around her tall mentor, giving them an impossibly wide berth.</p><p>The man named Dettlaff van der Eretein seemed unaware that people were staring at them when he slipped off his long, black, leather jacket and held it up, offering it to the pearl haired woman. It seemed as if he were suddenly embarrassed about some matter, and he looked away.</p><p>“Thank you, Dettlaff.” </p><p>Isteţime put an arm through one sleeve, then the other. She turned back around to him while observing the way the leather thing draped her hands, before looking up at him. “It’s quite heavy.”<br/>The man’s nostrils flared. </p><p>“I like it,” she clarified, and the man smiled at her crookedly, still unaware of the dancefloor. The light of the lanterns played off his strong features, and he looked, to her, really very handsome. When Isteţime turned back around, she saw that her mother had been watching the two of them in their exchange from she sat at a table, rounds of gwent having been played and long abandoned. The woodcarver blushed as she crossed the crowd of people, her mentor following behind her like some great predator, splitting tight spaces with his presence.</p><p>“Who is that?” </p><p>Isteţime heard her mother ask Rin as they walked off the dance floor, and the silver haired woman reached back and took him by the hand without thinking, leading him to their table. </p><p>She was, for whatever reason, suddenly incredibly nervous.</p><p>“Well hello, there!” Prevedea exclaimed, standing awkwardly as her daughter and her intimidating mentor approached. The mother held out a hand to shake Dettlaff’s, and Isteţime quickly reached out and guided her mother's hand out of the air. “Sit, sit!” </p><p>The older woman then sat. </p><p>“Hello,” Sloane greeted, his brow pinched.</p><p>The large hand tightened its grip around hers possessively. Isteţime gazed up at her mentor and saw that he had been staring at her. His hand did not loosen.</p><p>“Um, everyone, this is Sir Dettlaff van der Eretein, a woodcarving master and my mentor.” </p><p>“Looks like it,” Rin wiggled her eyebrows.</p><p>“The name’s Prevedea,” the graying woman beamed loudly over the brunette. She watched as her daughter and her mentor sat on the bench across the long, wood table from her, Rin, and Sloane- who she <em> thought </em> had been her daughter’s date. </p><p>“You are Isteţime’s mother.” Dettlaff gave a warm, tight lipped smile, and the older woman jumped at his low voice. The man’s fingers readjusted themselves, and Isteţime could feel his pulse. </p><p>Prevedea cocked her head at her daughter, before the woman started laughing. </p><p>“Oh yes, I am Eira’s mother.” </p><p>Rin and Sloane shared a confused look, having never been informed of the student woodcarver's first name. </p><p>“It is a pleasure to meet you, Prevedea. Your daughter is a skilled woodworker. You must be incredibly proud,” Dettlaff said, sounding rather natural. Isteţime found this surprising, and gawked at the man, before getting somewhat lost in the predatory features of his profile. </p><p>“Ah well, that’s all to do with her father, now, mind you. She got all of his woodley abilities, she did!” </p><p>“Is he a sculptor?” Mister van der Eretein slid closer to his student, just as the silver haired woman found herself inching towards him. The length of his thigh was pressed against hers, and this was suddenly very thought consuming. Then the woman fully registered his question.</p><p>“Was, yes.” Prevedea’s smile faltered. </p><p>“I apologize,” he began. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Isteţime piped up, and found that they were wordlessly intertwining their fingers together. Dettlaff van der Eretein’s gaze traveled to hers, and the silver haired woman just now noticed how close they were sitting. His lips were mere inches away.</p><p>Rin cleared her throat, bringing her attention back to the table a moment before Sloane smacked it and stood. </p><p>“Real nice, Eira,” he spat on the ground before turning and walking away. </p><p>The rumble that came from Dettlaff made the three women at the long table freeze. He stood from the bench, looking as if he were about to follow the young Sloane. </p><p>“Bless me,” her mother said, looking up at the tall, dark man. </p><p>Isteţime’s hand settled on his forearm where it hung in front of her, and pulled him back down.</p><p>Rin and Prevedea gave each other wide-eyed looks. </p><p>“I apologize,” Dettlaff bowed his head, “I, he should not have hit the table,” his eyes darted to and from Isteţime. “The noise can be a bother, to some.”</p><p>The older, greying woman nodded at the man with a warm smile. </p><p>“Will you be staying the night in Oxenfurt, Mister Van der Eretein?”</p><p>Isteţime felt her body freeze. She noticed that the large body sitting next to her also went rigid. </p><p>“I have not booked accommodations.” </p><p>“O! How marvelous! You can stay with us, of course.”</p><p>“I couldn’t possibly,” he insisted. </p><p>“Mother,” Isteţime began.</p><p>“You most certainly could. The townhouse is three stories, Eira.”</p><p>The tall, silver haired woman readjusted in her seat. She turned to her left, to her mentor sitting next to her. Prevedea nudged rin to turn around their bench, winking. </p><p>“Let’s give them a moment’s deliberations.”</p><p>“Ah,” Rin smiled, drunk, “incredible thinking.”</p><p>Isteţime leaned in towards the tall, dark haired man. All she could smell with his damn jacket on was him. When Dettlaff also leaned his face in closer to her’s, she froze. </p><p>“I, um,” Isteţime began, “it’s a long ride back to your cottage, Sir.”</p><p>“Please, Isteţime,” his eyes filled with her, “always call me Dettlaff.” </p><p>“Dettlaff,” she felt her body heat in places that were distracting to her when she said it. When she said it with his eyes staring directly at her from so close, “um,”</p><p>“Are you okay, Isteţime?”</p><p>“Yes, yes. I was going to say that I won’t be offended if you don’t stay with us.” Isteţime ran a hand through her short, silver hair. Wondering how it was she was twenty nine years old and acting as if this were some school yard crush. </p><p>The man was frowning, and still. </p><p>“You do not want me to stay.”</p><p>“I do,” Isteţime blurted a little too loudly, and his sizely head of black hair flinched back from her, before he recovered, and again put his face near her own. He was smiling very genuinely. </p><p>“You want me to stay?”</p><p>Isteţime caught a glimpse of his teeth, again. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You are glad that I came?” He asked, hesitantly.</p><p>“Of course I am.”</p><p>“Good.” His smile started slipping from his face as he looked around. “May we leave?”</p><p>“Will you come to the next one?”</p><p>Dettlaff’s nostrils flared, and somehow his eyes widened and became narrower at the same time. “When is it?”</p><p>“I’ll have to check”</p><p>He gave her a flat look and Isteţime began laughing, she could barely believe it. It caused the man to look confused again. </p><p>“Would you like to dance?”</p><p>Mister Van der Eretein looked up at his student, brows pinching together. </p><p>“One dance, then we’ll leave.” Isteţime stood, and Dettlaff followed her back out onto the dance floor.</p><p>“I might remember how.”</p><p>“I should say that I’m no better.” Isteţime turned, lifting her arms so that his coat sleeves unveiled her hands. He looked at the two of them with a sort of glee, as if they were gifts or she had performed some sort of magic trick. Perhaps he merely enjoyed seeing her in his jacket. Suddenly, one of Isteţime’s hands was being engulfed by the embrace of one of Dettlaff’s very large ones, and she looked up at him, feeling his arm slide at the base of her back as she stared into two, very observant eyes. </p><p>He cautiously stepped, and she cautiously stepped. He took a deep breath and so did she. He cautiously took another step, and she cautiously followed, then he paused, and she gladly did too, and then together they chuckled at the fact that nothing had been broken in the process. She watched as his gaze took her in unabashedly, his lips parted. His face was getting closer, and she could only smell something masculine about him.</p><p>“Eira!” </p><p>Isteţime jumped at the sound of her name. Sloane was standing directly beside her mentor. Seeming drunk, he said, “Eira’s mentor,” and looked at the tall sculptor, who froze.</p><p>“Sloane,” Isteţime started, distancing herself slightly from the man she’d rather say stuck to the side of.</p><p>“I’ve been wanting to ask, good Eira...what, exactly, <em> are </em> you wearing?” Sloane laughed, and touched the black leather jacket about her neck before giving it a tug, lurching her forward. </p><p>The tall, dark haired man’s low voice was humorless, and he smacked the man’s hand away before setting his own to the man’s chest. “Who is this, Isteţime?”</p><p>“Hey!” Sloane yelled up at the surly master woodcarver, as the large hand gripped his shirt, tearing it, “hands off!”</p><p>“A sort of friend,” Isteţime explained, taking one of her mentor’s arms in her hand, “he is drunk and unsightly at the moment, however. Let’s not bother with him.” </p><p>Her mentor let out something of a low rumble. It was a sound that Isteţime was hard pressed to find a word for other than <em> growl </em>. Dettlaff lightly pushed Sloane backwards and followed his student. Somehow the young, blonde man backed off immediately.</p><p>Isteţime took notice.</p><p>At the edge of the dancefloor, she turned to him, looking for something else for them to do, as she found herself becoming more nervous about him staying in the townhouse. Did he expect anything of her? Did he expect? </p><p>Isteţime watched him look at her hands, currently drenched in his coat sleeves, then his own, gloved to the half-finger. They balled into fists. </p><p>“Dettlaff?”</p><p>The man peered up at her below his brow. She watched as the handsome roundness of his jaw as it flexed. At the dark stubble of his lower cheek beneath his strong cheekbone.</p><p>The silver haired woman’s mother Prevedea then interrupted the two, with none other than the bard Dandelion trailing shortly behind. Isteţime took the opportunity to run to one of the outhouses. It had been somewhat of an endeavor to keep her mentor’s coat from touching anything. </p><p>Upon leaving the outhouse, she heard something in the grasses’ dark. </p><p>“Dettlaff?” Her heart began beating harder when Dettlaff did not answer.</p><p>“My, Eira. You really had me fooled.” Sloane chuckled. </p><p>The man walked closer, and the silver haired woman felt a new kind of chill. Something did not feel right.</p><p>“What’s wrong with you, Sloane?”</p><p>“What’s wrong <em> with me? </em> What’s wrong <em> with you?” </em> </p><p>He was slinking towards her, beginning to laugh again.</p><p>“Come here with the <em> hermit,” </em></p><p>Her back hit the outhouse, her eyes peered over to the light of the festival not but fifty feet away. </p><p>“Come to find <em> you </em> in his <em> jacket. </em>”</p><p>“Stop it, Sloane.”</p><p>His hand caught her jaw with a forceful grip, and Isteţime’s eyes widened. With her leg she kneed him in the groin, missing, but scaring him enough that he stumbled backwards. The lank woman squared up to him, and collided the knuckle of her balled fist with his jaw. </p><p>She started to run, but was caught by the heel, and tripped. </p><p>“You <em> bitch.” </em></p><p>Isteţime looked back, lying on the ground, ready to kick the man’s face, but he was gone. A pair of black boots were at her feet, and a gagging sound led her up to where Dettlaff was holding him <em> two feet </em> above the ground. The nails of his hand were growing, and his face was beginning to look <em> different. </em></p><p>“Dettlaff, you need to ru-”</p><p>He vanished, and Sloane crumpled to the ground, having fainted. </p><p>Isteţime realized she had not wanted him to run <em> without </em> her, and started after him in the direction of a crimson vapor. She pushed through the brush, away from the light of the event. Her hip was beginning to pang.</p><p>The silver haired woman began to call out his name when her foot dipped to a hole in the ground and she stumbled, without balance, through the last line of trees out onto the grassy cliff of the Pontar. </p><p>A large body put itself between her and the ledge, and she smacked it about the torso, though it was not so hard. It smelled of musk, so she clawed at it. She began soaking the shirt beneath her face with tears.</p><p>The woman always knew herself to be a monumental cryer. </p><p>“Isteţime?” The voice was tender, and lower than she was accustomed to. “I...I didn’t think,” he swallowed. “Are you alright?”</p><p>She felt a large palm go to the top of her head, as if the man wanted to stop her from looking at him. The silver haired woman shook her head “no”. </p><p>“Did he see you?” She articulated through her unsteady breathing. </p><p>Dettlaff’s body froze. The woman heard his mouth working. </p><p>“I do not believe so.”</p><p>Isteţime felt fingers slowly begin to massage the top of her head as she cried, and the man held her closely to him. He rested his mouth on the top of her hair. She could feel his words there when he asked, “did you?”</p><p>“Some,” she held him tighter. </p><p>“I will take you back, before I leave.” </p><p>“What?” Isteţime’s gaze darted up at him. “Won’t you stay?”</p><p>His eyes widened, looking alarmed.</p><p>“I...but you," his chest was rising and falling more quickly, "you want me to stay with you?”</p><p>“Yes, please.” Isteţime took a deep breath, feeling her body’s new ache. "I want to go."</p><p>“I will inform your mother.” </p><p> </p><p>Prevedea had been sitting with Dandelion and the enthusiastic Rin when the tall, dark, master woodcarver approached her. His shirt was slightly ripped about the chest, and he nodded to Rin, then to Dandelion, both of whom turned a deep red in the face for entirely separate reasons. Dettlaff informed the graying woman that he would be taking Isteţime back to the University. Prevedea, being filled with mulled wine and chatter, wished him goodnight with a deviant smile. </p><p>She would remember being surprised by his lack of reaction. </p><p>After he left, the curly blonde haired bard and the freckled Rin started laughing with eyes quite wide. Again, for entirely separate reasons.</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime was held to the man’s chest, cradled, and carried back to Oxenfurt faster than any wagon. She did not necessarily enjoy having to be carried, especially after a matter that had left her feeling vulnerable and helpless, but she also did not enjoy suffering <em> Wolf’s Bite. </em> Some things, you merely just had to live with. </p><p>Dettlaff van der Eretein carried his student, per her instruction, into the Oxenfurt Academy’s campus and up to the third guest townhouse, where he set her down on the front porch. </p><p>“Will you stay?” She asked, finding her hands leaden.</p><p>His lips parted as he gazed down at her. </p><p>“You welcome me, still?” His expression was bewildered. She took his hand.</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>There was something very sweet, and something very sad about the way his eyebrows pinched upwards when she answered him, as if he were in pain. She opened the door and let him inside, closing it quickly behind her. She lit candles, and he helped. </p><p>She held him by the hand as she walked him towards the stairs.</p><p>Then, she caught him staring up at the architecture, frowning. Isteţime was glad that he seemed completely distracted from her now known discovery of him.</p><p>“This is where you live?” </p><p>She felt her skin pucker by the sound of his deep voice. </p><p>Despite the fear her body told her to feel, Isteţime found herself chuckling, and the man’s attention jumped to her, face full of curiosity. </p><p>“What?” She asked, “Don’t like it?”</p><p>“It is very large,” his icy eyes were back to watching her. “Is that what you prefer?”</p><p>Isteţime hid her grin as she began taking the steps, “I can’t say that it is. I’ve never lived in a large place. This is a guest house, I live on the opposite side of campus.”</p><p>She reached the second floor, still feeling her prickly skin as he followed her up with a weighty presence. </p><p>“Do you enjoy living there?”</p><p>Isteţime found herself smiling again.</p><p>“I do. It has a beautiful Oriel window in it where I sometimes sleep instead of my bed. It has incredibly high ceilings. Those tend to make me feel alive. I think I’m more creative in places with high ceilings, they feel less cramped.”</p><p>“High ceilings,” she could hear the man’s frown in his voice. </p><p>“Yes, like these, but the walls are very narrow.”</p><p>“Your mother is staying here tonight?”</p><p>Isteţime reached the third floor and turned to him, he stopped when on the step just below her, and gazed up at her carefully. The pearl haired woman very much wanted to take the side of his face in her hand. She very much wanted to hold him there.</p><p>She turned and opened the door. </p><p>“Unless she finds Mister Dandelion as appealing as I think she might, yes, she will stay here.” A thought occurred to the woman. “Do you have any family?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Where are they?” She asked as they made their way inside the large room, the ceiling pitched by the roof. </p><p>“They are gone.” </p><p>“Oh,” the woman frowned, watching him as he took in the place. “Why?”</p><p>“I led them astray.”</p><p>Isteţime frowned, and sat on the bed, shrugging off his jacket and removing her aubergine shawl, thinking about leading family astray. The man named Dettlaff, seeing the fireplace, began making a fire. “How are you feeling?” </p><p>The woman’s saliva went thick in her throat. </p><p>“How is your body feeling?”</p><p>“It aches.” </p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“Mostly my hands, my left ankle, my hips.”</p><p>He stood, having successfully put the fireplace to use. When he turned to her, Isteţime nearly asked him to sit on the bed, but her words caught, and he sat in a chair instead. </p><p>She covered herself with a blanket. </p><p>“Thank you, Dettlaff.”</p><p>The swell of the man’s chest was the only indication that he had heard her, though he stared at her. </p><p>He looked at the space beside her, and she found her voice.</p><p>”Will you sit with me?”</p><p>Dettlaff walked to the other side of her bed and in the very awkward way in which he tended to sit, sat. Isteţime was surprised when he put the blanket over him. Her body felt like it was ignited by his closeness. </p><p>“Isteţime,” Dettlaff whispered, before he turned to her, and she saw that his chest was again, marked by the inconsistency of his breathing. The woman put her hand to his face, noticing how it was dwarfed by it. “You know what I am?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>His eyes closed, and he shuddered. </p><p>“Dettlaff?”</p><p>“Then why?” His deep voice was gravelly. </p><p>“Why do I still want you?”</p><p>Dettlaff opened his eyes and peered at the woman, “Did...what did you just say?”</p><p>Isteţime held the side of his face, “That I want you, Dett-”</p><p>The large vampire closed the distance between their lips, stifling the rest of her sentence as he began kissing the woman. His long fingers were in her hair. </p><p>She replied by finally feeling the touch of his dark, black hair twined between her fingers.</p><p>His tongue slipped into her mouth and Isteţime cradled the back of his head so that he would stay that near to her. She could begin to feel his excitement on the side of her leg, and she wanted to feel more of him everywhere, to invite him in to wherever he would know her. The feeling of his neck at the hairline started to feel different when he pulled himself from her, facing away.</p><p>“I am...I am so sorry.”</p><p>“Dettlaff?” Isteţime’s body was still tingling from the excitement. She did not know why, but she had not been afraid. She had not felt deterred by his otherness. A pit in her stomach formed at her suspicion of why he was apologizing. “You don’t need to be sorry.” </p><p>The man’s body calmed, and he readjusted himself so that he was facing her, again. The woman’s face was concerned. </p><p>“I am broken, Isteţime.” </p><p>She shook her head, looking him in the eyes, “you are thoughtful and caring.” </p><p>The man’s brows pinched upwards again, and he reached out with his clawed, long fingers and held the woman near to him. </p><p>“I think,” his voice was low, “that we will need to take things slow.” </p><p>“Anything."</p><p>The silver haired woman fell asleep with the sensation of the man's palm cradling her head to his chest. In the morning she woke to the same, and smelled refuge on his skin as he held her.</p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so damn excited for these two to be a couple already X"D</p><p>CW’s: attempted assault</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Match Struck Outside The Barrel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Isteţime wakes to find herself still in Dettlaff's arms. It is the second day of the event, and the two take their time with mixed enthusiasm trying to get out of the crowding, third townhouse for guests.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>FLUFF! FLUFF ALL AROUND! </p><p>I made two little pieces of art for this! There aren't any CW's for this chapter that are new to the fic. If I missed any, though, please, please lemme know! They are in the end notes if you want to be careful!</p><p> </p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the night Isteţime Eira had dreamt of a therianthrope, a werewolf man named Lou she’d known (and more formally, <em> evaluated </em>) from a remote forms study she’d done her second year of graduate school. He was one of the most pleasant, kindhearted and understanding people she’d ever met, cursed as a boy. They became friends almost immediately. He mostly told her about the adventures of he and his childhood friend Brenard- the happiest time in his life. He was difficult to get to know, elsewise. She recalled how every bit of information on his otherness caused him great distress to reveal to her. He feared how she would react at each step of their uncovering of each other. It had driven her mad trying to figure out how to make this man believe that she did not hold some grudge against his nature. She had wanted to blame him for it. For the lack of trust, after she’d given him so much. Then, Brenard came to visit him at long last- an occasion Lou had been looking forward to all the summer. Brenard had poisoned him in the night, of course. Thinking that if he were to be werewolf, that he’d be better dead. It was a new sentiment Brenard had grown into during his adulthood. The old friend was arrested, and the werewolf was saved. Lou never spoke of their adventures to her again. It wasn’t until this that she realized what she had been asking of him.</p><p>In asking to expose the parts of him he kept hidden away, she had also been asking him to wager parts of his existence - the memories they had created together, in the process. She began to recognize certain things. She saw how that when his father had abandoned him, a large portion of his life that had been happy morphed into an unshapely thing that haunted his waking hours until he thought it best to forget the ordeal altogether. The ordeal being <em>his childhood.</em> <em>What made him.</em> The only parts of his childhood able to be recalled were his adventures with Brenard, until those, too, were stolen from him and replaced with new terrors of his waking. New things to remind him that he was bad and unworthy of simple connection due to a circumstance that had so little to do with who he truly was. </p><p>
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</p><p>The third guest house was sleepy on the first day of week’s end. The cool air’s dampness dappled the grass, the leaves, the round arenaria bushes whose flowers had long surrendered, and made them shine hopeful in their new rousing. A darkly feathered bird sat perched, dry and dewless, on the branch of a white birch tree outside of the third townhouse’s third level. If the stark contrast between the bird and the bright yellow leaves of the tree were noted by the tall vampire inside the townhouse, he gave no signal. The oily eyes of the raven merely observed Dettlaff marking his newfound territory. His new mate. </p><p>When people began crowding the campus, the raven took flight. </p><p>Inside the townhouse, the silver haired woman woke to an interesting feeling of a low and constant rumbling - a vibrating, accompanied by someone nudging about her head and neck. She opened her eyes, and the events of the day before came back to her in waves. Her fingers tightened around the blankets that weren’t blankets at all, but rather the red tunic concealing the man’s wide, handsome chest that she’d been using as a pillow, which she could now see was dosed with a healthy amount black chest hair. Was he <em> purring? </em> It was a wonder she slept so well, steeped in his scent and warmth, an odd and unspoken promise of safety, and the delicacy of his touch despite his known clumsiness...</p><p>The large body shifted beneath her. The vibration and the nudging ceased, and Isteţime realized that Dettlaff had been nudging her with his <em> face </em>. He was aware that she was awake now, she knew, and this made the situation somehow very real to her. The woman realized how bizarre she felt this all was, and how insecure it was making her. </p><p>This man was her mentor, the woodcarving master who, if not on file independently, was at least acknowledged by the Academy as such. He was brilliant in his work to the point of frustration to her, he was tall and handsome and sweet... </p><p>There was also the fact that this man, who had her body wrapped gently in his arms, who had been <em>purring</em> around her, was in fact a vampire. A True Higher Vampire, even. Rare and incredibly powerful. Would he nudge her with his face again?<em> Had he slept? </em> She wondered. <em> Did they sleep? </em> She shuddered, and the man stiffened. A wave of guilt flooded her, and her arms, one of which had made its way around his back in the night, hugged him.</p><p>Dettlaff relaxed, and heat replaced the guilt she’d been feeling. </p><p>Scalding, tingling, heat. </p><p>“I wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” Isteţime admitted.</p><p>A worried crease formed between his brows, “Should I have left?” </p><p>“No,” her reply came out sounding <em> too </em> eager, she thought, but when she peered up against his chest and saw the dark haired man’s expression relaxed to curious, to <em> peaceful </em>, Isteţime thought that maybe it had in fact been just the right amount of eager. “I’m glad that you’re here.”</p><p>Dettlaff smiled in a way that was very nearly a sneer.</p><p>It was in this closeness that Isteţime noticed the rhythm of the man’s wrinkles for the first time. He had peculiar lines that formed around the sides of his mouth, as if he had frowned widely and more times than any one person could count or recall; both of his brows came together atop thick pads that were set in such a way that, when paired with the lines of his eyes, led the woman to believe they had made one primary expression the entirety of his life. She found no lingering traces of smiles or laughter in that worn face, and felt a pang in her heart from it.</p><p>“I’d like to give you new wrinkles,” she stated truthfully.</p><p>To the woman’s surprise, Dettlaff’s nostrils flared, his eyes did something that would suggest he was experiencing a peculiar sort of delight as one corner of his mouth furled.</p><p>“What an odd thing to say,” his eyes danced about her face, her short, pearl colored curls and the redness of her cheeks. Then, the crease between his brows deepened. “Are mine unsavory, to you?”</p><p>The pang in the woman’s chest turned into a burning.</p><p>“Not at all,” she held out her hand, and touched him by the cheek, her face reddening even more so when his eyes fluttered to a close and he inhaled. His lips curled back into a smile, and as his mouth parted, Isteţime Eira glimpsed his sharp, individually pointed teeth. </p><p>He looked undeniably calm, she realized. He looked <em> soft, </em> in her hands.</p><p>“What wrinkles would you like to bestow upon me?” His deep voice was like velvet to her, “I have never seen them before.” </p><p>“Oh,” she was taken aback, his light blue eyes opened and watched her hand as it left, frowning. His own flinching as if to bring her’s back to him, but he stopped himself. She saw this, and reached out to his cheek again. There were several things the woman was unsure of. She was unsure of what was conjecture and what was not in regards to his species. “Do you truly not have a reflection?”</p><p>Her body in its instinct was telling her that his closeness was a bad idea, but at the same time, she felt soothed by it. </p><p>Another deep chuckle. “I do not.”</p><p>The woman ignored how succulently sweet his breath was.</p><p>“Do you wish you had?” </p><p>Isteţime started moving her hand from the side of his face, but this time Dettlaff caught it in his own, and held it where it was. The woman froze, remembering how strong he was. Then, as if he realized what he had done, released her hand and cleared his throat. </p><p>“Forgive me,” his voice was quite choked.</p><p>The silver haired woman did, for some reason she did very much forgive him for it. </p><p>“I do.” She gave him a soft smile. “Do you wish you had a reflection?”</p><p>The man blinked, and his face was unmistakably grateful. </p><p>“Perhaps. I have seen what good it did for humans when they invented their mirrors, but the thought of it does not occur to me often,” he smiled. “Now, which wrinkles?”</p><p>“What good did our mirrors do?” The woman asked, stubborn and wanting her answers. </p><p>The vampire’s expression turned surprisingly playful.</p><p>“Their, or I suppose <em> your </em> kind’s, art improved.” He bit his lip when she laughed and, watching her, asked just as stubbornly, “ <em> which </em> wrinkles, Isteţime?”</p><p>“One’s that form from being made happy,” the woman replied simply, appraising his different hands. She replied it <em> so </em> simply. She did not see the way his mouth opened, nor how his brows pushed together and upwards in some new fashion they were unaccustomed to, nor how his eyes held a sheen to them, now.</p><p>Dettlaff licked his lips, mouth working. He did not manage to speak before the woman’s green hazel eyes peered up at him, the sight making him smile.</p><p>“Would it be rude of me to ask how old you are?” </p><p>Dettlaff’s smile faded at her question, and his eyes traveled about her face. </p><p>“Does this matter to you?”</p><p>The grip of his fingers tightened around her shoulder and hip.</p><p>“No,” she replied, and his hold on the woman relaxed. “Though you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” </p><p>He searched her expression.</p><p>“I am four and a half centuries old,” he said, his voice gravelly. “How old are you?”</p><p>The woman’s eyes bulged slightly before resuming their composure. The vampire’s head cocked at her nervous chuckle. </p><p>“I, erm, twenty-nine.” She unsuccessfully ran a hand through her mangled, silver curls and said a little too loudly, “So <em> four hundred and fifty years old, huh?” </em></p><p>He frowned. </p><p>“This does matter to you.”</p><p>“No, I just,” she blushed, “feel....”</p><p>Dettlaff’s light blue eyes bore into the woman, and she felt his arms tighten around her encouragingly. Her posture became smaller.</p><p>“You are not insignificant, Isteţime.”</p><p>The woman’s breath caught.</p><p>“Do you really believe that?” </p><p>Dettlaff gave her a severe expression, “I do. It is the truth, besides.”</p><p>The intensity of a four hundred and something year old man telling her she mattered caused Isteţime to slide from his arms, which he opened for her without question. He watched her walk to the window, watched her notice that it was late morning, watched her hear and see for the first time today that people were outside. </p><p>
  
</p><p>She saw graduates with their older and wizened mentors. </p><p>“It is still Oraculi…” Her figure stood against the blue sky and ravenless yellow leaves of the birch tree. “Would you like to join me, today?”</p><p>The man groaned, but when the woman faced him with a hopeful expression and giddiness about her eyes, his mouth smiled its nearly sneering smile. </p><p>“This would make you happy?”</p><p>“It would very much so,” Isteţime laughed, “if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“If I agree, will you,” Dettlaff paused. </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Lay beside me again.”</p><p>The woman’s heart began pounding. </p><p>“When? Now?”</p><p>“Now would also do.” </p><p>She felt herself smiling at him, and the tall, dark haired man with his sharp teeth smiled back. </p><p>“If you didn’t mean now, when did you mean?”</p><p>He blinked, cocking his head of handsome dark and greying hair.</p><p>“At night, when you sleep.” </p><p>This was all happening very fast, to the woman. Isteţime walked to her bag with her change of clothes propped up against the wall beside the fireplace. The fire Dettlaff had somehow kept alive through the night<em> . </em> She wondered why, exactly, he felt this way. She wondered why <em> she </em> felt this way. </p><p>“I don’t see how we’ll manage it,” she admitted, walking her clothes to the partition and dropping them. She turned and chose to wash her face at the bowl of water instead. </p><p>“The nights you stay with me.” His deep voice bellowed. </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>The tall, silver haired woman paused after putting down her small, wet towel, trying to figure out if this was a good or rather bad idea. Isteţime had no idea why she was falling in love with a tall, dark, pressed for articulation vampire man, but she could feel that she was. Something in her was already in love with him, she knew. She turned to him, and felt herself warm by the sight of him now lying atop the newly made bed. He had his boots on once more. </p><p>Or perhaps, she mused, this was just how love happened.</p><p>“Can you give me a moment?” she asked.</p><p>The man’s brows pinched in the middle, he appeared to be confused, and this made the woman smile. </p><p>“I’m going to change.”</p><p>“Change what?” Dettlaff frowned. </p><p>“My clothes,” she explained, covering the laughter on her mouth. She reexamined the partition in her mirth, “on second thought, you can stay.”</p><p>“Are you certain?”</p><p>“Yes.” She quickly removed her clothing, never more aware of another’s presence in all her life. She could smell him from behind the folding wooden barricade. Whilst pulling on her blazer, she listened for her mother downstairs and heard the bard. She gasped. “That counselor...”</p><p>“He did not stay the night,” Dettlaff said, and she heard his deep chuckle.</p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“Yes,” he replied, sounding more comfortable. “My hearing is quite capable of listening in on the first floor.” </p><p>The woman shifted, doing up her pants. </p><p>“Does…” she tied the drawstring of the black, velvety trousers, “does Mister Dandelion know? It seems the two of you are acquainted with each other well enough, in some fashion…”</p><p>“He does.”</p><p>Isteţime heard another low chuckle when she gasped <em> very </em> quietly at this. She nearly gasped at how he had heard her very quiet gasp. This knowledge, however, gave her comfort. Mister Dandelion knew Sir Van der Eretein for who and what he was and trusted him with her alone, over span of days together. The woman smiled. Not that it mattered completely, she would think, as she trusted him very much already. The vampire’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts on the matter.</p><p>“You like this information.”</p><p>She swallowed, walking out from behind the room divider. </p><p>“How can you tell?”</p><p>The man sat up, his chest visibly excited when he saw her. His mouth parted. </p><p>“I... You,” his nostrils flared, “smell differently.”</p><p>“When I’m pleased?”</p><p>Dettlaff sneered his smile. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>The tall woman’s face went red under his gaze. </p><p>“I am glad this does not upset you.” </p><p>The woman held out her hand for him, “me too.”</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime Eira Stelhet led the tall, dark haired man she was falling in love with down the flights of stairs. On the back of her neck, hairs were individually standing on end, informing her of the danger and screaming for her to run from the predator who trailed each footfall, from the predator who was holding her hand delicately in his much larger one. </p><p>The man named Dettlaff van der Eretein gazed out the windows of the townhouse’s stairwell, and frowned at the campus paths busied with people. He observed the sky, which was sunny overhead but seemed heavy by tumultuous rain clouds across the sloping, forest-lined gustfields towards Velen. Then, his attention was caught by the woman’s free hand, which she was balling and releasing. His face marked now by stress.</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime reached the first floor, which was entirely open save for the room on the other end. Across the kitchen in the living room she saw her mother sitting in a large chair, sipping something hot from a mug, and Mister Dandelion who was paying her attention while she told him a story, a sheen of sweat above his brow where his cap met his forehead.</p><p>The tall, silver haired woman felt an impulse to run from the room, perhaps back upstairs, and her foot took a step back, onto the master woodcarver’s boot. She felt him squeeze her hand, his other caught her by the shoulder to steady her when she began to lose balance.</p><p>“What is wrong, Isteţime?” His deep, alerted voice was quiet and spoken so directly by her ear she felt his breath, but it was not quiet enough.</p><p>Dandelion’s eyes peered over at them and back at the student woodcarver’s mother, then back to the new couple, hoping desperately for the woman to notice. </p><p>“O!” She finally did, “Eira, honey!”</p><p>This time Isteţime felt Dettlaff shift unassuredly, and squeezed <em> his </em> hand, walking into the living room.</p><p>“Mom!” Isteţime found that she was laughing at her mother’s expression, which was, to her surprise, incredibly <em> happy </em> . If she wasn’t mistaken, she was fairly certain it was <em> happy for her. </em></p><p>The silver haired woman had never really been romantically involved, from the heart, and had not known what to expect. Perhaps her mother could tell and was relieved.</p><p>She dropped Dettlaff’s hand and nearly ran to give her mother a hug, then realized how ridiculous that might seem. She stopped herself, clearing her throat. Her green hazel eyes traveled to the large hand she’d dropped, wanting to reclaim it.</p><p>“Here,” she motioned to the couch and walked towards the kitchen, not wanting to witness Dettlaff go through another one of his awkward journeys of <em> sitting upright </em> , let alone in front of her mother. Guilt panged the woman, and she quickly poured two cups of tea, wondering if he drank tea. If he ate. He certainly did not know how to make cookies. He never touched that sweet potato, either. <em> Shit. </em></p><p>“Mister Van der Eretein,” the bard Dandelion’s voice was audibly strained, “how nice to see you.” </p><p>His pitch traveled up during the last sentence. </p><p>Isteţime turned around and saw that her mentor was sitting on the couch, her mother smiling at him in a way that made Isteţime want to fold in on herself and die. She walked the tea over, and he took it. When she sat next to him, his body relaxed</p><p>“My own mentee was just set to arrive, in fact,” the bard’s voice became more jovial. Dettlaff merely stared at Dandelion sitting on the edge of his chair across from him, and reached for Isteţime, holding her tightly by the hand. </p><p>The bard’s lips pursed, clapping his hands together, “Perfect. Ah, hah, oh that’s perfect.”</p><p>“Is everything alright, Dandelion?” Prevedea asked, sounding worried. </p><p>“No, yes, everything’s quite fine. Mister Van der- ah, screw it. Dettlaff, a word?”</p><p>The man walked out of the room townhouse, icy blue eyes following him until they were staring directly at Isteţime. He took a sip of his tea, and smiled at it, facing his student’s mother, who probably thought him younger than her by twenty some odd years. </p><p>“This is very good, Prevedea. Thank you.” He carefully set the cup down on the short table in front of them, turned in his seat, and kissed the silver haired woman on the cheek, “Isteţime.” </p><p>The woman blushed into her hand as she watched him walk out, admiring his physique under the black leather frock until the slab of wood known as a front door interrupted the sight. </p><p>“O! That man has an arse about him, doesn’t he?” Prevedea <em> giggled. </em></p><p>“Mother!” Isteţime clasped her mouth, turning red as she did the same. “That isn’t very polite.”</p><p>Her mother sipped her tea. “How are you feeling today?”</p><p>“Fine, well, you’re aware of how autumn weather makes me feel at times.” The silver haired woman's jaw set, and she hid the movement of her hand from her mother.</p><p>“I meant with that mentor of yours.”</p><p>Isteţime laughed nervously, her voice low and husky.</p><p>“Be careful, honey. I don’t want him breakin’ your heart, is’all.”</p><p>Isteţime nodded.</p><p>“Thanks. Not that it entirely matters, but he’s rather sensitive.”</p><p>The graying woman looked at her silver haired daughter, then to the front door.</p><p>“Could have fooled me with that hard face of his,” she barked, laughing into her tea. “Ah, well. I trust ya. He knows you don’t like loud noises, and I know for a fact you never give that information out willingly, so he must be keen enough for ya.”</p><p>Isteţime flushed, racking her memory for when that evidence had surfaced. </p><p>“And those damn chisels. Eira, honey, you could sell tem things for money, mind.” </p><p>“Mom, I’m surprised by you.”</p><p>“If things end badly, is what I mean.”</p><p>“<em> Mom, </em> ” the silver haired woman slapped a palm to her forehead, chuckling with her chin up towards the ceiling, “you are a scandalous <em> scoundrel.” </em></p><p>Prevedea’s face became somewhat serious, then. Isteţime’s mirth turned sour in her stomach as she watched the change in expression. <em> Please don’t suspect anything of him. </em> The woman silently pleaded. <em> Not when he is so very good. </em></p><p>“Sloane was injured last night. Blondie told me all about it before the two of you came down to join us.” </p><p>The sour in Isteţime’s stomach doubled and began turning. The thought of his face made her ears and neck heat in anger, before she realized what this could mean for Dettlaff, “how was he injured?”</p><p>“By some sort of animal, it's suspected. He can’t remember, drunk as he was. O! It did scare me, Eira, though it did. I thought the country here was so much safer.” She considered her daughter, “it keeps me whole at night, you know, the thought of you safe out here.”</p><p>Isteţime felt immense relief at this information. He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember Dettlaff’s...what exactly <em> did </em> he look like in his other...forms? She swallowed. </p><p>“Eira, honey? I hadn’t meant to scare ya.” </p><p>Isteţime shook her head, “I’m fine, mom. Thanks for telling me.”</p><p>“Ya, well,” Prevedea took another sip of tea, cut short by the door opening and closing. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Dettlaff van der Eretein, I am impressed by you,” Dandelion scolded the tall, dark haired man and his neutral expression on the sunny front porch of the townhouse, the cold air making his toes tingle as he paced back and forth. The bard stopped, crossing his arms and huffing up at the other, “Well? Have anything to say for yourself?”</p><p>The vampire also crossed his arms, putting his weight on the railing of the porch, the breeze playing with the hair tucked behind his ear. He cocked his head at the bard.</p><p>“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”</p><p>Dettlaff shrugged. </p><p>“I do not.”</p><p>Dandelion threw up his hands, “You attacked a-” he looked around at all he people, dropping his voice to a whisper, “attacked a student last night, you took another home and <em> slept with her, </em> while her <em> mother was sleeping in the same guest townhouse visiting the University?! </em>And no doubt because of this that student <em>knows your true nature!? </em>Ha! Hoh- <em> hoh, </em> are you <em> trying to lose me my job?!” </em></p><p>The bard continued to make indignant noises at a louder decibel, the finer and more sensitive details having been communicated. </p><p>“The blonde man?” Dettlaff asked, a scowl on his face, the bard took a step back when he growled. </p><p>“Easy, <em> easy, </em> ” Dandelion coaxed, appearing concerned. He stood up straight, “I’m guessing Sloane did something, then, huh? Okay, <em> okay, </em> listen, you don’t need to explain it. Let’s just skip that part.” </p><p>“He attacked her,” Dettlaff stated, his scowl turning into a frown as he took in the bard, who danced nervously about what the vampire might do, despite the vampire’s lack of doing much. Dettlaff continued. “I stopped him from continuing to attack her, bard. And what is wrong with sleeping? What is wrong with her mother being in the house while she sleeps?”</p><p>Dandelion’s eyes went wide. Dettlaff shook his head.</p><p>“Your kind has the most ridiculous aversion to touching. Let me touch her.”</p><p>“Oh-<em> kay </em> there, big guy,” Dandelion looked around, “maybe lower your voice a little when you say things like that.”</p><p>Dettlaff too looked around. <em>“Why?”</em></p><p>“You <em> slept with her,</em>” Dandelion stifled his shout. </p><p>“I do not sleep, bard.” The vampire was sounding more and more frustrated, having to repeat himself.</p><p>The bard slapped his own face. </p><p>“I’m talking about sex, Dettlaff!”</p><p>Dettlaff’s head recoiled in confusion.</p><p>“Why are we now talking about sex?”</p><p>“Wh-wait. What?” Dandelion lowered his gesticulating limbs from the stony vampire. It was a good thing Dettlaff owed him his anonymity at times like this, the bard thought. “You didn’t sleep wi-I mean, you didn’t have sex with Eira?”</p><p>Dettlaff blinked, his head pitching again. “No.”</p><p>The tall man’s light, grey-blue eyes were dancing about the boards of the porch as if trying to figure out how the conversation wandered so far. </p><p>“I would, were she to have me.” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure you would.” Dandelion choked out, laughing nervously. “Well, it’s a good thing ya didn’t, though. I mean, her friend- total oversharer, by the way- informed me Eira’s a virgin, of all things, if you can believe <em> that. </em>” He kept laughing nervously. “Not that it matters. Hi Thomas, make your way inside. She’d probably get all clingy if you had, fall in love, or whatnot.” </p><p>The bard leaned on the door frame as Dettlaff’s eyes followed the young, slightly pink faced, orange haired man named Thomas as he walked inside the house Isteţime was in. He pushed his weight off the rail. </p><p>“I do not understand what ‘virgin’ means in this context, Dandelion. Nor why it would be <em> good </em> that I not have sex with Isteţime as she clings to me, in love. Excuse me.” </p><p>The black-leather frock wearing man pushed passed the blonde who stared blankly at him, in utter awe, air escaping him in the fashion of a deflating balloon, before quickly stepping in line behind him, filled with guilt over the fact that he unwittingly set one of his students up with a man she was sure to find out as the mass murdering Beast of Beauclair. The Beast of Beauclair who by no means seemed <em> uninterested. </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, ladies!” A sturdy man of Isteţime’s age hopped into the Tudor style townhouse, just as full of gusto as his mentor. His face was somewhat pink, and his curly hair was rather orange. Isteţime was mildly aware that she was making herself as large on the small loveseat as she possibly could when he tootled into the living room. “Does anyone know that rather petrifying character Master Dandelion is speaki-”</p><p>The man was interrupted when the door opened again, Dandelion trailing Dettlaff’s boot heels, red in the face. Dettlaff merely seemed unamused, Isteţime thought, until his eyes traveled to her and he smiled with a closed mouth, she beamed.</p><p>The young man took a step away from the couch Isteţime sat on when he saw this exchange. “Oh, do excuse me, <em>sir</em>... sir.”</p><p>“Van der Eretein,” Dettlaff replied, peering at the man with a curious expression as he held out a hand for the silver haired woman. </p><p>“This is my apprentice Thomas,” Dandelion interjected, and Dettlaff’s eyes narrowed at the bard, who shifted and pivoted away. “Uh, <em> yeeah. </em>”</p><p>The curly and blonde haired man swung his apprentice around to face Prevedea and from from the lanky, silver haired woodcarver, introducing the two of them instead. </p><p>“Mom,” Isteţime called after she stood up next to her mentor, “Dettlaff and I are going to have an amble around at the festivities.”</p><p>Prevedea's pretty face popped out behind the pinkish man, “O! Have fun!”</p><p>“Not so fast, Eira!” Dandelion whipped his head around to her, pointedly ignoring the tall man at her side. “Why not us <em>all</em> go?!”</p><p>“Goodbye, Dandelion. I am sure that I will see you soon,” Dettlaff inclined his head at the bard, before finding that his hand was behind grasped and pulled along by Isteţime. He followed her.</p><p>“Fine. <em>Suit</em> yourselves.” </p><p>Dandelion shook his head, watching the man being led this way and that by the whimsy of a frail, sick woman.</p><p> </p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW's mention of that gross character from last chapter briefly, Dettlaff saying a thing in regards to sex, Dandelion being somewhat not cool about virginity although it was for show, bias against vampires, talk of a friend betraying someone for their nature (as a werewoof), moms bein' moms. Ahhh, I think that's it!! &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>PS I did spell werewolf "werewoof" and that's the first time I've ever done it or seen it (maybe, but probably not) and I am tickled.</p><p>Shout out to I think every Witcher monster lover out there for the true higher vampire purring inspiration it tickles me way more than uttering “werewoof” haha, though that did just make me giggle again.</p><p>&amp; cha I reference the impact the invention of mirrors had on the renaissance in this chapter X’D</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. In the Slipstream of His Brother's Firebrand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>'It seemed, at least to Dandelion, that the dark haired woodcarver could hardly relieve himself in his own pot without the barber-surgeon having to track him. </p><p>Now Dandelion understood that it was likely because the ceramic had cracked and the pot was leaking piss onto the bedroom floor.'</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime and Dettlaff go to the event, where she notices his behavior. Rin, on the other hand, is noticing a vampire of a different sort.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>—-—</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
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There was a warmth in the small tower room that generally was not present. Rin breathed out a feather of her body’s heat and welcomed the rest. The woman tried to recall all of the night prior’s activities, counting the particles of dust floating in the beams of sunlight above her. </p><p>Our burly Jon had a cup of tea in hand and a pastry he baked himself between his teeth. He had been long awake on the first full day of the week’s end. It was, in fact, the first full day of the week’s end that he could enjoy with his friend Rin since his return from Castel Graupian. </p><p>“Yes, you’re awake!”</p><p>His large thumb slipped from the latch.</p><p>“These windows are impossible. I do not know how you could manage to open them on your own,” he said through a mouthful of marzipan. </p><p>Rin heard rather than saw the old, diamond paned window open, and a pleasant breeze that was the right kind of cool brushed the side of her face. The kind of cool that made one feel alive. The kind of cool that gave a person a sense of clarity. A sense false or not. She bathed in it. </p><p>Jon, sounding as if he had had a good thought about it, offered, “Must be your finesse.”</p><p>Rin grunted in approval. The tall pitch of her tower’s ceiling lended itself to her thought often, and was rather generous in cloaking her in it. </p><p>“Someone’s talkative, today.”</p><p>“You’ve only just returned from our rival university and already you demand so much attention.”</p><p>The man threw an almond puff pastry at her, filled with a coarse sugar and ground almond paste, laughing.</p><p>“<em> I </em> brought this for <em> you </em>. Baked it this morning.” </p><p>“Thank you,” the freckled woman sat up with the bounce created from Jon jumping onto the bed beside her. “Really.”</p><p>“How was it?” He asked, beginning to grin. “I’m still surprised they let you in.”</p><p>“Not everyone needs a Masters label, thank you.”</p><p>The woman bit the pastry and moaned, gratefully.</p><p>“And I’m trying to recall. I had a good time. Got <em> bloody </em> drunk with Dandelion and Eira’s mother,”</p><p>“Prevedea’s in town?”</p><p>“Mm, mhm. Sloane was there until Eira showed up with her Master Woodworker…” The woman trailed off, brows knitting. “Lost a lot of lace to Prevedea in Gwent.”</p><p>“Not the Guipure?” Jon scowled, “<em> Rin, </em> I am <em> not </em> listening to you complain about that loss for one moment. If you think that I...”</p><p>Rin leapt from her bed and walked across the hexagonal room to her wardrobe. The woman was still trailing after a scent in her own thought. There was something that didn’t sit quite well with her in regards to the tall dark man who accompanied her friend. After having gotten a good look at him last night… Her head cocked at her dresses. She acknowledged that a drunken observation was not the most reliable. </p><p>“<em> Oh, </em>” Rin started giggling, twirling, all thoughts of the man’s strangeness dissipating.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“We should go see how Eira’s doing…” her face broke into a smirk, “after leaving <em> with </em> her mentor last night.”</p><p>Jon threw a pillow at the small, freckled woman. “Looks like I won a bet, and you’re all out of Guipure…”</p><p>The woman crossed her arms, dropping her hip into a gesture impossibly authoritative. Their eyes both flickered to her door and back.</p><p>“<em> Not </em> the broderie anglaise lace...Jon.”</p><p>A split second passed before they both raced to the door, Jon laughing deeply.</p><p>“I said... <em> not... </em> the <em> anglaise!” </em></p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The third Townhouse for guests was experiencing a lot of traffic on the second of Oraculi. </p><p>Dandelion had shooed his apprentice Thomas out the door with an excited Prevedea at the sight of a murder forming outside the kitchen’s window. </p><p>Or rather, he wondered, what <em> was </em> the group term for Ravens? Was it a murder? Or simply a flock?</p><p>Regardless, the blonde bard sat slumped in an armchair as a humorless vampire paced the room lengthwise, waiting rather than seeking to have a word with his bat-like counterpart. The bard wondered why he so refused to acknowledge they’re being counterparts. It seemed, at least to Dandelion, that the dark haired woodcarver could hardly relieve himself in his own pot without the barber-surgeon having to track him. </p><p>Now Dandelion understood that it was likely because the ceramic had cracked and the pot was leaking piss onto the bedroom floor.</p><p>“Do you think he realizes the danger and just simply doesn’t care?” Dandelion mused, interrupting Regis’ diatribe. The barber-surgeon hesitated, as if trying to decide whether or not it worth being upset that the bard hadn’t been listening.</p><p>“I think it depends on which danger you’re speaking of.”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean that Dettlaff is not concerned over the safety of his student because he’s infatuated with her, and likely doesn’t see how he could or would hurt her.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“Precisely.”</p><p>The bard shifted uncomfortably, beginning to speak then stopping himself as many times as it took for the vampire to look at him.</p><p>“Care to share what’s gotten you of all people, tongue tied?”</p><p>“Regis, I’d hate to sound crass, or blithe about this entire ordeal, but…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“...He seemed pretty happy.”</p><p>The other man wrapped his fingers around the strap of his bag, frowning. </p><p>“Maybe we’re making too big a deal out of this.”</p><p>“And if his identity is found out? If Eira uncovers him as the <em> Beast of Beauclair, </em> what exactly do you believe will happen then?”</p><p>The bard deflated.</p><p>“There’s nothing you can do about it now, Regis. You know that she knows this much about him already, and she-”</p><p>“The difference in being capable of horrific deeds and executing them is great, Dandelion.”</p><p>“Yeah, but,” Dandelion sighed, then seemed to burst like a grape tomato under too much pressure from a thumb and index finger. “Like really, <em> quite </em> happy, Regis.”</p><p>The vampire was crossing his arms when a knock came to the facade. The bard leapt to it, wondering in the brisk walk over on the decibel in which the two had been conversing. He flung open the door. </p><p>“Rin!” </p><p>The small, freckled woman had lost her large friend and blacksmith somewhere around the event’s mannequinned armor sets. She smiled brightly at the man, and walked directly past him into the house. </p><p>“I’m looking for Eira,” she chuckled, “of course. Have you seen her?”</p><p>Dandelion saw the blush on the woman’s face, and remembered the night before how she had to be helped into her tower by her friend’s mother. <em> Youth, </em> he shook his head, and was becoming skeptical about the origin of the blush itself.</p><p>“Did Mister Van der Eretein choose to stay for the day?” </p><p>Her rouge deepened as she asked it, much to the bard’s dismay. He had been hoping that she would not have been able to remember. </p><p>“Indeed he has,” Regis answered, and the woman turned on her heel to see the barber-surgeon standing in the living room for the first time. </p><p>“Oh hello,” she smiled, “Regis, was it?”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>The woman walked over to him and curtsied. </p><p>“I’m Rin, in case you’ve forgotten. I was wondering if I should ever see you again.”</p><p>“Were you now?” Regis looked down at her, surprise and amusement evident on his face. The woman nodded. </p><p>“I was interested in <em> this, </em>” the short woman very boldly grabbed onto the man’s small satchel. “I haven’t been able to get over the pattern of its beveling.” </p><p>The man cocked his head, a wry smile forming on one half of his mouth. His eyes had, the bard thought, become very gentle. </p><p>“You know, I crafted this myself.”</p><p>He bit his lower lip and stared at the satchel in her very near hands in wait for a reply. </p><p>“You did?!” Rin gasped, “Holy shit! <em> How?” </em></p><p>“Oh dear,” the vampire was overcome with laughter, “you <em> are </em> quite impassioned, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Could I pay you to show me?”</p><p>He settled himself.</p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t take on students.”</p><p>“What about friends?” The woman smiled up at him, her tone not bothering to mask the fact that this was begging. </p><p>“Are you truly this interested?”</p><p>She held up the bag to him as if he were insane, “of <em> course.” </em></p><p>“Well, then, I suppose I,” the vampire’s eyes caught the bard who was staring at him and cleared his throat, “No, I couldn’t possibly.”</p><p>Dandelion was unsure if he was more taken aback by the hypocrisy that wasn’t truly hypocrisy, or that this textiles and fashion student should be begging advice from a man dressed in clothing likely one bad night on a bedroll under the stars away from being rags completely.</p><p>“Hmm,” the woman’s mouth set in a way that led the bard to believe she was not giving up on the matter. </p><p>“Rin, let’s leave Regis alone to his thoughts, for the moment. We could look around, enjoy the event. At any rate I should be finding Thomas, and we truly shouldn’t be in this house without either Eira or Prevedea.”</p><p>He beckoned the woman, who looked back at the barber-surgeon as she went. He could have sworn her eyes had narrowed at the herb-smelling man’s too large hands, before he quickly swept her out the door and closed it shut <em> tight. </em></p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The air on the campus had been clear and dry. The groups of students and mentors had brought younger siblings, their children, parents, aunts, and uncles, and even in the case of the mentors- the mentors of their own, held with the same importance to that of a familial elder. The event was self fulfilling and odd not only to the woodcarving master, but also to the woodcarving apprentice.</p><p>The tall, dark haired man was not good in crowds of people. In fact, he was quite bad in them. Isteţime had realized that he’d gone from relaxed and peaceful, caressing the length of her smaller hand with his thumb and humming some song, low and beautiful, to being tight. The entirety of his being had appeared to be and felt tight to her. His movements were jagged and defensive. It seemed every turn there was his reconnaissance of another influent crowding of persons. </p><p>He ferretted around people like something wild. His icy blue eyes darted about, looking to the sky more than once as if he had expected to find danger from above as well as around. The silver haired woman noticed the way he at first only swayed about behind her, ever daunting and ever closer he would grow until she turned to him and found those eyes surveying. The handsome burl of his neck jigging in swallowing or smelling more often than she’d ever seen. She found the peculiarity of something so human being worked in a manner entirely inhuman astounding, when it was him exuding it. Exuding his nonhuman qualities. He reeked of it. She had never witnessed something so untamed and so handsome in all her life.</p><p>So for this it was, in the depth of her belly, that a pool of guilt had formed. </p><p>For despite his unease, she found that she <em> enjoyed </em>his behavior.</p><p>She enjoyed the way he snaked his arm around her waist. How he glowered at men who looked at her and held her more securely when they did. For once she walked uninterrupted, it seemed.</p><p>She even enjoyed the slight feeling of fear that this <em> was </em> his behavior.</p><p>A claim of her to him.</p><p>“Would you like to leave?” She asked, looking up at him, his eyes momentarily becoming relaxed when they found hers. A smile began to appear on his parting lips, before some nearby sound caused his eyes to resume their work in assuring safety. Whether or not it was his or hers he was worried about, Isteţime was unsure of. Though the odds seemed stacked in her favor.</p><p>His eyes found hers, again. This time, they held them, and the woman felt as if she had caused some sort of crisis in him. In his body. Though he looked at her as if he would crush a mountainside were she only to simply ask. </p><p>“Not if you would like to stay, Isteţime.”</p><p>The woman was surprised to find that his jarringly deep voice was caring, and sounded more calm than she would expect for it to be. There was a hardness in it, though, and she recognized that it reminded her of an edge. Of something sharp. His large hand went to her face, then, and she cupped it, having to look away from the intensity of his gaze that he kept unsurrendered. People were beginning to stare at the man, and the woodcarving student was not hard pressed to understand how his behavior could be interpreted as predatory or offensive. </p><p>It set her heart on fire. The actions of this wild thing that seemed so readily to love her.</p><p>Isteţime took his hand in hers and walked to where the wall of the University had its one opening. She continued until they were standing atop a grassy dune of the southeastern beach where other people were not, save for a couple paying no one any mind but each other in the thicket some thirty feet off.</p><p>“How does this feel?” She asked, looking up at him. </p><p>His brows came together, and he looked over his shoulder only once more before his facial expression unknowingly thanked her. “This feels fine.” </p><p>A chill breeze ran through the air as they sat on the dune together. Isteţime wasn’t sure what they would do or talk about, or if she was dreadfully boring at the moment, but as soon as the thoughts came, so did they depart when the master woodcarver’s deep voice broke the silence. </p><p>“May I?” </p><p>Isteţime turned and saw his arm outstretched.</p><p>“Yes, you may,” she moved closer to him, smiling as he almost hesitantly put his arm around her. “I’m surprised that you asked, given how you had held me to you just before, in the crowd.”</p><p>The man’s body went stiff. </p><p>“I…” Dettlaff stopped, his breath hot on her ear, his voice getting quieter and closer. “Did that bother you?”</p><p>His hand was beginning to trace her jaw and her chin.</p><p>“I apologize if it did.” </p><p>Isteţime swallowed, finding that sitting here, nearly in the man’s lap, with his hot breath on her ear, and his fingers running up and down the length of her chin, that she was having quite a difficult time speaking. </p><p>“No, actually.” She blinked, and looked at him dead in the eyes. The twirling about her jaw ceased, and the vampire’s pupils expanded. Isteţime felt it was easier for her to speak like this, though his eyes were captivating. </p><p><em> What are you doing, stetsy? </em> </p><p>She pushed back the thoughts.</p><p>“I normally would mind, mind you.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Van der Eretein’s brows drew nearer, watching the silver haired woman speak, her attention returning to the Pontar. </p><p>“But with you,” the woman inhaled, and the vampire waited on bated breath, though his new partner did not notice, “it would seem that I, for some reason, don’t.”</p><p>The tall man exhaled, “good.”</p><p>It was then that a large, black bird perched in the orange canopy of a maple caught Dettlaff’s eye. He shifted. </p><p>He did not want to leave, yet. The tall woman with her soft body, with her fragile limbs and loving gaze gave him a kind of peace that he found himself missing when she was away. Her kind eyes, and their quiet regard for him made him feel wanted. </p><p>Now, this woman knew he was vampire. Dettlaff observed the slope of her forehead, tracing it to the bridge of her nose, down to her chin as she stared off at the river’s lazing waters- its tide clumsy compared to the grace in which the woman moved when deep in concentration. He wanted to see her concentrate on him, directly. For her to try to find him with those warm, kind eyes of hers. He felt already that despite her being human, that a part of her loved him. </p><p>The notion glowed in the dark of his chest like casting iron. The notion of being loved by another who was capable of it. Who was not tied to him by blood, or oath, or hierarchy. </p><p>Dettlaff leaned into the woman and smelled her without asking permission, about her hair. He smelled that she had become in some way excited by this, and he was not wrong in thinking it was a good excitement. He sensed how she had become still. In that moment, the vampire wished very much to kiss her. Gently, about her temples. To hold her naked body to his own and exist there.</p><p>But he was, above all else, afraid of losing this small, growing connection. These were fragile threads. Carefully woven. He had, in his long life until very recently, truly not known how fragile they were. </p><p>Three ravens now sat in the tree. </p><p>“I must go, Isteţime.”</p><p>The woman turned to him, and he received a small portion of what he’d been longing for reflected in her gaze. </p><p>She looked around, then back to him. </p><p>“Should I walk you back?” He could not hear the threat in his voice, nor how transparent his already growing jealousy was. </p><p>“Oh, no,” she smiled, “thank you, Dett-.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dettlaff,” Regis' voice was carrying over the dunes, Isteţime recognized it immediately. She frowned. She didn’t want her time with him to be over quite yet. She had so many questions to ask, and here she’d gone and wasted her time with him by being swept up in the way his arms felt around her. </p><p>“Regis.”</p><p>Isteţime felt the sharpness in Dettlaff’s tone, and wondered what offense his friend had caused as he approached. He looked down at the dark haired man next to her with an unsavory expression. </p><p>“Eira.” Regis nodded. </p><p>Isteţime smiled, but received no warmth in return. He simply waited, staring down at Dettlaff.</p><p>The silver haired student was surprised, then. Not by the man’s expression, but by how very much she wanted to defend her master woodcarver for whatever it was he had done wrong. Isteţime also had known the man Regis to be a kindly one, and she was not expecting his expression to be as <em> severe </em> as it was. Then, suddenly, she was being hugged quite tightly, and lifted to her feet. </p><p>She turned and looked up at the man, and smelled him, feeling lighter and better with his familiar scent in her lungs. Without intention she wondered what it would come to mean to her. He was scowling at his friend.</p><p>“I’ll miss you, Dettlaff.” </p><p>She very much wanted to kiss him on the face. Perhaps the cheek. But she couldn’t get herself to do it, and the moment seemed to pass. He looked down at her then, afterwards, in her regret, his icy blue eyes observing her in some kind of silent promise. </p><p>“I will miss you, Isteţime.”</p><p>Dettlaff inclined his head and hesitated, before his lips met her cheek. The touch was excruciatingly gentle to the woman. The touch made her want to act as feral as he seemed. He reached out and felt her other cheek lightly with his thumb.</p><p>“I will see you in a few days.”</p><p>As he walked with his friend, Isteţime sat back on the dune, staring at him. He looked over his shoulder at her more than once, seeming uninterested in the words of his friend. Seeming pure and innocent, somehow. The woman wanted to see him sooner than she would, though it was only a few days. </p><p> </p><p>Isteţime had spent the next hour wandering about the festival, being interrupted by men, until she found her mother and the two spent the day together. Prevedea must have picked up on the fact that her daughter was in a giddy, yet thoughtful melancholy, because she spoke little of the master woodcarver. </p><p>That evening, she said goodbye to her mother, who promised she was expecting to see her that winter, Skellige trip or not, and spent several coins that Isteţime knew she didn’t have to buy the woman more stationary for letters to each other. </p><p>It wasn’t until just as she was departing that the graying woman looked at her daughter and told her that she was happy for her, and that she thought the tall, awkward man with the long and scary jacket, who made beautiful things for her seemed like a nice man and a good fit for her. It made her daughter very happy to hear in a most peculiar way that she very much enjoyed. </p><p>After her mother had departed, the woman had set out to meet with Mister Dandelion, if for no reason other than wanting to speak Dettlaff’s name aloud to someone who could appreciate it truly for who it stood for, when a freckled, enthusiastic, curly haired woman got in her way. </p><p>Her short friend Rin had her hands balled to fists, those fists placed on either side of her hip. </p><p>Isteţime had a terrible feeling that she knew what this was about, as a small hand grabbed her wrist, and led her into the large building she stayed in, and led her up the tower to her room before releasing her wrist. </p><p>Somehow, she seemed less angry. </p><p>“Eira,” the woman’s incredible dress was poofy and a blue periwinkle, “I have an issue.” </p><p>“Oh,” Isteţime was surprised. </p><p>“There’s this, um, <em> man, </em>” she continued, “whose identity I don’t really want to disclose.” </p><p>She took a deep breath.</p><p>“I need him to teach me something…”</p><p>“Is this reverse psychology?”</p><p>“Will you <em> shut it?” </em> Rin turned to her. “What are your feelings on vampires?”</p><p>Isteţime could not speak. Her friend started back up on pacing. </p><p>“Why?” The tall, silver haired woman asked the question hesitantly. </p><p>Rin turned around, “because I’m pretty certain I just became more or less interested in one.”</p><p>The tall silver haired woman felt laughter, surprise, and relief bubble in her body.</p><p>“Well, it seems you have a lot to tell me about.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ohhh is dettlaff going to have some issues with being possessive?! Is eira gonna love it?! IS HE A BIG OLE VAMPIRE?!</p><p>&amp; Yeah I’m a silly stinkin’ doofus who loves Regis, too! I thought it was cuute!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Who I'm Waiting For In My Raincoat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Be still my aching heart. Eira recognizes Dettlaff for who he is.</p><p>Dettlaff van der Eretein is absent for months, until he isn't.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW's in the end note and there are certainly a few. ;)</p><p> </p><p>Also, I listened to this song the entire time I wrote this chapter, lol! I don't really suggest paying that much attention to the music video, but I thought I'd let you know what the heck made me do all of this. If you listen to this song while reading, I'd start it after Isteţime speaks with Regis! Or right away. Whenever! X"D</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2JgMniIpRM</p><p>This chapter kind of makes me crazy happy?</p><p> </p><p>Enjoy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>It had happened abruptly. It had happened so abruptly that Isteţime Eira had not known what to do about it. The vampire came to her in the night, had told her that he would be gone until the first snowfall of winter. </p><p>He did not offer her further explanation. It was cold and hard, and he seemed like he hadn’t given care to his words. </p><p>She did not know what to make of it. She didn’t understand why he would leave after this. Had she done something wrong? Crossed some line? </p><p>The lessons of teratology were taking a toll on her, now. Korta Lem spoke at length, three times a week, describing higher vampires in their intricacies. Rin was enjoying every bit of it; she and Regis had become somewhat entangled. She couldn’t offer her friend any more insight on the matter, and whenever Isteţime saw Regis, he informed the silver haired woman the same.</p><p>She didn’t believe him. </p><p>
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</p><p>The silver haired woman was beginning to feel like it had been a dream; like she was going insane from having once been infatuated with a man whose existence she could barely prove to herself. She yearned to be in his cottage and watch him build his fire. Catch glimpses of him admiring her as she wiped sawdust from her brow.Now, she worked in the graduate’s workshop, where students were weary of her allowance to proceed- her woodcarving master’s absence slowly recognized. She’d become a spectacle, and she could not find it in herself to blame them, though she watched the others receive instruction from their mentors with a new edge in her heart. There, she worked, and felt alone despite the warm smell of harvested wood- despite the familiar condolences of running grain. Her godling statue had been moved to stand beside the rest of the student body’s projects. Her new statue was a higher vampire, naturally, in their vampiric state. Though she had tried to make it independent, she couldn’t help but see the resemblance it bore to the man who taught her how to observe the species. To truly see the curves of their jaws, the width of their mouths, the set of their teeth, the way their hands could so delicately wisp away the dust of a handsaw in the cool hours of morning. The way their pupil’s would grow with their partner’s excitement. Partner…</p><p>What had she been to him?</p><p>The woman tried to reason with herself, tried to make less out of something that felt like more. She never bothered hiding her pain, because she was an honest person when it came to her feelings, because she knew there was no other way to live. Though if she could twist and fold herself into some shape impressionable enough to believe it, believe that she didn’t feel his absence in the hollowness of her own trunk, she would be grateful. She would.</p><p>The leaves on the trees had all browned and dried, fallen to the earth and scattered. The sun loomed at the sky in the place that was always in the frame of one’s vision, causing bare dark branches to cast odd, dark shadows across the building walls and the walkways between them. Winter was nearing, and it was cold. Isteţime’s fingers hurt more often, as did the rest of her joints, but she had not been sick in the way that would have caused her to miss the long wagon ride. The desire to hold a grudge against her own body, to wish it different was difficult to resist. </p><p>
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</p><p>Some months had passed, and snow had fallen. Still, there was no vampire to instruct her. She had become better and better friends with the bard Dandelion, wanting to be in the presence of someone who made her feel sane in her experience. Isteţime realized that the man was undeniably brilliant in the arts of theatre, prose, and modern literature. It was to her surprise that she found his jovial tendencies were less contrived than previously imagined. He simply could not help himself, and she found his qualities becoming more and more endearing; they grew on her like a moss. Most of all she enjoyed very much the way he silently had the blonde man named Sloane removed from his program and campus.</p><p>Some students began to whisper about the two, but both being confident in their mutual lack of interest, did not bother to correct them. Isteţime realized she had not and did not do so simply and peculiarly because it hurt her to. It hurt her somewhere deep, the notion, and she knew it was because of <em> him. </em></p><p>All the while she wondered <em>why.</em> <em>Why</em> had he left?</p><p>
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</p><p>Then, one day in Korta Lem’s Teratology course, Isteţime received her answer in the pages of her textbook. In the form of a shadowy figure looming in a broken column of words. The silver haired student could not hear her professor’s explanation of Damien de la Tour’s actions during the Night of Long Fangs, it was replaced with a subtle ringing. Visions of the blonde haired man grasping his neck surfaced, the scene recreated on the parchment before her, only he was being dangled not by a man in a red tunic. </p><p>The depictions of the Beast had always been of a tenebrous and featureless creature, cloaked like the despair he’d been submerged. Isteţime had given the artists and writers too much credit, thinking it had been poetic. He wasn’t being depicted in his despair, she realized. He was being depicted in his long, black leather frock coat. </p><p>Something was lodged in the woman’s airway, pushing at its walls outwards. The pressure was building. Isteţime tried to swallow it, but it was moving its way upwards. Closing her eyes, she left her book at the long desk and swiftly evacuated the lecture hall, choking. </p><p>The image of Dettlaff being put through the test of murders caused her to become sick before she could reach her flat. She didn’t want to curl up in her window perch. There was too much inside of her now to recognize that she was seeing the world in front of her. It was night when she felt herself getting cold on the dune she sat crying atop.</p><p>She heard approaching footsteps.</p><p>“No one shall believe you. You’ve no proof, I'm afraid,” the voice she heard belonged to the vampire Regis, and he sat down beside her. </p><p>“Mister Regis,” Isteţime began, but the lump in her throat returned, and suddenly her vision was overcome- stolen, by images of the dark haired man’s pain and recollections of words spoken. </p><p>
  <em> You do not believe your own words, Eira. This, I guarantee you. </em>
</p><p>The vampire was in her grips, his shirt was being bundled tightly in her fists. He was being shaken, and his chin felt the tickle of her moonlight colored hair when her forehead came to rest on his chest. She was silently crying against it. </p><p>“Why?” The woman’s voice shook, making the words in the rest of her question indiscernible. </p><p>The vampire was frozen where he sat. Through the uneven breathing human sounds of upset he was able to distinguish her asking for the other vampire’s whereabouts. </p><p>“You shan't be able to find him, Eira,” he replied, unmoving, “nor will any man sent for him.” </p><p>Emiel Regis was uncertain whether or not she had heard him or listened for the answer.</p><p>“Is he alone?”</p><p>The woman was still, now.</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” He cocked his head. “Yes, quite alone, and safely f-”</p><p>Isteţime unclenched her hand and slapped him across his cheek. The vampire kept his head where it had been turned by the force of it, and saw two furious green-hazel eyes before the woman stood and walked off without a word. </p><p>Regis stared at the darkness before him.</p><p>“-far away,” he finished, frowning. </p><p>
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</p><p>The woman curled up in her window nook when she arrived back at her flat, the weight from the small body of her roommate’s kitten nestled itself atop her. She stayed there for the night, and in the morning went to class. In the evening she found herself back in her nook. When the sun rose again, she again went to class and passed through the day, returning to the embrace of night. She did not speak to Rin about the incident nor offer her explanation. She did not know whether her friend’s good graces to higher vampires extended to ones who had committed mass murder. </p><p>Did hers?</p><p>She wanted to be upset at him, she thought. She told herself that she did want that, to be upset at him. It would make her feel more human. No, Isteţime did not want to bring humanism into the equation, she realized. It would make her feel...<em> right, </em> by human standards. </p><p>All she could feel, however, was anger and sadness. </p><p>Dettlaff. </p><p>To make sense of his actions was to experience pain, and the pain she experienced from doing so was for him. Was for the victims in Beauclair, was for the weight of it that he must carry with him. </p><p>No matter how human it would make her feel, Isteţime could not make herself angry at him. She wanted more than anything to hold him. </p><p>Was she insane? </p><p><em> Am I losing my mind. . . </em> The thought trickled into her by the light of the moon early one morning before she had left her window. Her shawl wrapped more tightly around her. Snow covered the ground completely, now, and reminded her of a broken vow.</p><p>The stress was not good for Isteţime’s body. Her joints were inflamed. She had stopped going to the nurse about the state of her fevers out of disinterest. Out of a revelation that it was and had been inefficacious: they offered no more answers or alleviations than she herself. </p><p>Her aubergine shawl was not enough to keep her warm, and traded cloaking it over her black blazer to cloaking it over her grey wool coat. </p><p>She worked on the sculpture, not bothering to pretend that she did not desire for the form of the thing. In her chest it stung, and she followed the sting. The vampire of her sculpting would be doing something peaceful, she had decided. The chisels she used were white hot against her palm, and she worked herself too hard, and too long. </p><p>She continued to work herself too hard, and too long. </p><p>She worked herself up to the very night before she was to leave for Skellige, though all hope of her mentor appearing for the trip had subsided.</p><p>Isteţime was idly imagining the ninth chisel, where it must be now, when she heard the door to the workshop. Her hairs rose on the back of her neck, and her brow knit. </p><p>It wasn’t him. </p><p>“My,” Regis gazed up at the statue, still only beginning to become its own - divulge its secrets, “that’s quite beautiful.”</p><p>He cocked his head, the woman did not speak to him.</p><p>“Tell me,” His pitch black eyes slipped from the wooden form to the woman’s profile, “is it him?”</p><p>Isteţime’s aching hand slipped, and she opened her mouth to reply that it was. That of course it was. But it got caught in the place of her throat where words once often did, but not like this. It was so simple to reply that it was. All she needed to do was make the sounds. To release the words.</p><p>Her eyes burned and her hands were frozen. The inside of her lip crushed between her front teeth and she nodded. She took a deep breath. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>She heard a stool skid across the floor.</p><p>“I hadn’t known, of course,” Regis stated. “That you, well.”</p><p>He observed the tall, silver haired woman. Since last he saw her, she’d become thinner, and her eyes were quite tired. They both were still and quiet for some time, and Isteţime couldn’t help but notice that she enjoyed his being there. </p><p>“Rin’s rather upset,” the vampire said. </p><p>Isteţime nodded, swallowing. There was an attempt to grunt in agreement, but it came out a small clearing of her throat instead. She couldn’t look at him, only stare unfocused at the wood grain in front of her.</p><p>“I pushed him to leave, though I’m sure you’ve already gleaned that.” </p><p>The silver haired woman shook her head, indicating that she had not known that. </p><p>“When it became apparent that you would likely uncover the truth in his identity, I couldn’t risk waiting for your...<em> reaction. </em> If you become none the wiser, he could continue <em> this… </em> this <em> infatuation, </em> as we can refer to it. If you realized the apparent, well, then the plan was to watch you for a few years and keep him away. I shouldn’t say I’d ever wanted to <em> kill </em> you, but he’s worked very hard and I have worked very hard, to say that I hadn’t been prepared... You understand. He wants to return, naturally,” he continued, “to see you.”</p><p>Isteţime closed her eyes tightly, as if they were trying to escape. </p><p>“Seeing as you are quite obviously in love with him,” Regis became quiet. “I hadn’t expected the issue to be whether or not he could handle you knowing.” </p><p>The silver haired woodcarver looked at the man, then. Realization panned her countenance, and her face slowly began twisting in pain.</p><p>“Oh, my dear,” the vampire swallowed, his face becoming tender for the first time, becoming kindly again, “come here.” </p><p>He stood and hugged the woman as she turned to him, beginning to cry. </p><p>“I feel terrible for saying so,” the vampire began, his grip on the woman firm and consoling, “but I have to admit that your feelings on the matter give me the oddest sense of being liberated from confinement.”</p><p>She nodded. </p><p>“Being the only one to care like this has been,” he chuckled, “well, we’re <em> always </em> lonely, our lot.” </p><p>The vampire started at the feeling of suddenly being hugged in return. Being consoled<em> . </em> He let her go. </p><p>“I can’t promise you he won’t flee, should he find out that you know.” </p><p>Isteţime felt her heart flutter as the man left the workshop. There was promise in those words. </p><p>
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</p><p>The next morning she woke, her body stiff and wrong, to the sound of a knock at the door. She considered waiting for Selah to answer it, before taking the stairs two at a time. Her peacocked friend and counselor stood on the opposite side, smiling widely, telling her to pack her travelbag, and emphatically, to visit the nurse. </p><p>Heavy sails fluttered in the heavier wind across the boat, the deck of which was crowded. Isteţime stood at the ledge, leaning on its railing- the figures of her friends becoming smaller as they left the harbor. The air smelled incredible, she thought. She could feel the drumming of her heart. </p><p>Pulling her aubergine shawl around her shoulders, the lank woman’s hazel-green eyes scanned the deck lengthwise through the bodies of students and mentors. Her mouth was dry. The bard had told her that he would be here. Maybe she would check with him again; Dandelion was on the ship, after all. She stopped herself from doing so. She’d only just spoken to him and besides, he’d more than likely smirk about the fact that he could not secure a cabin larger than a servant’s. The drumming in the woman’s chest quickened its pace. </p><p>People turned towards her, as they usually did, this time with the addition of their heads ticking at her gait, which they found was lopsided- and it was. The woman could not continue to hide her limp. She did not allow their gazes to perturb or disrupt her thought, however, which was on one particular detail she overlooked. </p><p>Dettlaff would see her sculpture, which was more or less a desperate tribute to her feelings for him. The silver haired woman came to a dead halt in the middle of the deck, eyes flickering to the side of the boat and looking as if she were about to be sick. Then she stood straight, and shivered.</p><p>Across the way of the bow, standing in the crowd, was a tall man in a dark leather frock coat with jet black hair. The top of his back was broader than she remembered it being, and the back of his hair thicker and darker than she remembered as well. Isteţime watched him, transfixed, and the handsome slope of his cheekbone came into view as he turned to her. </p><p>As soon as he began walking to her, people began moving out of his way, and Isteţime began fighting through the crowd on her end, until the man reached her.</p><p>“Dettlaff!” The silver haired woman laughed by his name on her tongue, the space between her fingers being filled with his; the steely grey-blue of his eyes disappearing to reveal his pupils.</p><p>“Isteţime,” his voice was husky, the woman noticed. She peered into his eyes, barely noticing they were growing closer until he closed them and she felt the warmth of his lips on hers; she parted those lips and their breath met. The lank, silver haired woodcarver felt his large hand on the back of her head, the other was sliding around her waist. She gasped when it pulled her abruptly, and her body was tight against his. </p><p>Her hands ached, and she lifted them, discovering the feeling of his cheekbones on the soft flesh of her palms. There were pockmarks she felt with her thumbs, and he whimpered at her touch. No soul interrupted the two. He was saying something, she could feel the vibrations of echoing words in his body, and realized it was her <em> name </em> that he was purring as he picked her up.</p><p>Isteţime hadn’t noticed that he had carried her all the way to their cabin until he set her on the narrow cot and climbed atop her. She lay on her back, gazing up at him when their lips parted. </p><p>He stared down at her, his awe similar to that of a man looking at his newborn child. As if he had known it were possible, but had not truly understood the gravity of that possibility until now. </p><p>The woman decided that she loved him, then, as he gaze down at her wordlessly. How she would be able to tell him she knew…</p><p>She closed her eyes shut tight. </p><p>“Isteţime?” The deep register of his timbre soothed her. She felt his fingers softly graze the curve of her cheek.</p><p>“I’m glad you are here with me, Dettlaff.” </p><p>“I should not have left,” he stated in observation, “it has hurt you.”</p><p>That was a peculiar thing to say, and a peculiar way to say it. She opened her eyes and looked at him in his innocence. He was right, of course. It <em> had </em> hurt her. </p><p>Isteţime continued to take him in, curious. “How could you tell?”</p><p>She watched Dettlaff’s face tense about the forehead, his eyes falling towards her body. The weight of his gaze warmed her. </p><p>Then, the pitch black of his pupils were growing in front of her as their eyes met. </p><p>“It has become more difficult for you to walk.” </p><p>“Oh,” Isteţime’s brows raised, then fell, looking upset. Upset at the word <em> more </em>, “you noticed I had a difficult time before today?”</p><p>The large vampire reached out to the woman. She felt his hand cup her face, his fingers intertwining in her hair, his arm was wrapping around her waist again, gripping her side. </p><p>“This upsets you?” </p><p>He cocked his head, eyelids tense. The woman shook her head, unable to look away from him. Her hands were taking in the feel of his leather jacket as she ran them from his sides to his back and pulled him to her. </p><p>“Not at all, Dettlaff,” he inhaled the sound of his name as the woman began kissing him. His fingers were running around her head and neck, as if they were beginning to thirst for her on their own. At every new bit of skin they lingered, feeling her a moment longer in their discovery. She wanted him. She wanted every part of him he would give her. </p><p>Instinctually, Isteţime’s long legs wrapped around him, and they found the narrowness of his waist with ease. </p><p>“Isteţime,” Dettlaff’s chest pushed against her, harder, and he removed his jacket, parting from her. For the first time since being in the cabinet, the silver haired woman felt the lazy swaying of the boat. In the corner of her eye she saw a mound of familiar blankets, and felt as if she had been punched in the stomach, she clawed at him, pulling him back to her kissing him more, her hands now mirroring his own in their hunger, their wanting to subtract the unknown betwixt them. </p><p>She could feel him, his excitement- the length of him grazed the meat of her thigh and she inhaled so sharply her lungs became full. The allowed the air to escape her slowly, into him, he was undoing her clothing, exposing her bosom, then exposing the rest of her. He removed his tunic, and the woman ignited at feeling the form of his body, the build of his chest, his arms, his neck. He licked his lower lip after undoing his trousers, in the moment their mouths parted. She saw his eyes flutter shut.</p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime stated before his lips could again caress her. </p><p>“Yes, Isteţime,” his voice was undeniable to her, then. His breath heated the side of her mouth as he began nipping it.</p><p>“I...I’ve never done this.” </p><p>She felt the nipping on her cheek cease, and felt the expanse of his breaths deepen. </p><p>“I’m not sure if I can,” he replied, finally, “without transforming.” </p><p>The woman felt her heartbeat quicken, recollections of her statue filled her mind. </p><p>“I don’t mind,” the woman whispered, and she meant it. </p><p>“It might hurt you,” he swallowed, “if I do.” </p><p>“Dettlaff,”</p><p>He shivered. </p><p>“Won’t it hurt no matter what?”</p><p>She felt his bare chest push up against her bosom, her eyes shut, remembering the sensation on her thigh and preparing herself, but Dettlaff’s body parted from hers. The chill air of the cabinet on her skin caused her to shiver, but not as much as the large predator’s presence made her shiver, and she felt him slide down her, she felt his exciting masculine form beneath her knees, and he pulled her to the edge of the bed. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” she heard the pitch in her voice, and the fingers of her hand found the man’s face, and she ran them through his thick black hair. </p><p>Isteţime gasped at the wet feeling of his tongue between her legs, near her opening, on the tender, personal area that had only known her touch, until now. He gripped her thighs when she suppressed a moan. She felt the fingers on one of his hands creep up her leg, until they were feeling her just below where his chin was nestled. His caressing was soft, and gentle. </p><p>Dettlaff cooed at the woman, his member stiff and standing upright. She failed to suppress a noise and it twitched, <em> aching. </em></p><p>“Isteţime,” the vampire’s voice was far away and heady, and the woman felt the tip of his fingers at her opening. He pushed them in gently.</p><p>She wanted to gasp loudly, then, as he continued further into her, to huff, and wince at the pain, but she stifled it as best she could, and instead it came out a pleasurable sounding squeal. </p><p>Immediately his fingers pulled from her, and he grabbed her, holding her to his body- the skin of him had changed, and she saw his impossibly long claws on his fingers that curled around her. His heart was beating wildly. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime whispered. </p><p>He whimpered, then snarled. </p><p>“I can’t,” his voice sounded different, like this. It was a raspy hissing, and it echoed despite how quietly he spoke. How quietly he <em> screeched. </em> </p><p>The woman should have been afraid, she thought. Most humans would be afraid, wouldn’t they? Only she merely wanted more of him. More of him in any way that he would let her have him. </p><p>She did not know why she so desperately needed it. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” the woman ran her hands up his back, then down. “Will you look at me?”</p><p>The vampire’s breathing stopped. </p><p>Then, he started to panic, she could feel how fast his chest was moving.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” she quickly added, caressing his back slowly, “it’s okay.” </p><p>He readjusted himself, his face slipping just into view of the woman, and she gasped. He froze, and she felt like he was a spring, coiled to flee. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime repeated his name assuringly. Slowly, she moved her hands up towards his face until she was holding him there. His eyes held more fear than anything she’d ever seen, and it called her to kiss him, gently, on the cheek. He watched her silently, his body beginning to thaw- and she kissed him closer to where his fangs jut out his twisted mouth, and he sucked in air.</p><p>“Isteţime…” </p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with this,” she whispered, and he took a breath, steadying himself.</p><p>“I can feel that you are afraid of me,” his hissing voice shot through her, but it did not make her want to leave. It made her want him still, and Isteţime could feel the cadence of her own words were disrupted when she spoke.</p><p>“That isn’t fear, Dettlaff.”</p><p>The vampire did thaw, then, and she heard the faint echoing of her name before his voice sounded familiar again, and his face appeared before her as the man, instead of the beast. She felt his hands on her face, and he kissed her. </p><p>Dettlaff lifted the woman’s hips off of the cot to him as he knelt, and, leaning over, kissed her again. She felt the head of his member run up between her legs and she swallowed, wrapping herself around his waist. </p><p>Isteţime peered down and eyed the man’s erection- his stiff cock staring directly at her. It was thicker and longer than she had expected, and suddenly she was somewhat afeared. She felt his hand on her face, and heard his whisper, pulling her to his front, asking for her permission, and she gave it. </p><p>With a grunt Dettlaff drove himself into the woman, and she clung to him. </p><p>Isteţime felt him part her lips, pushing into her, and she gasped, trying not to sound hurt or desperate as he did. He started clinging to her, moving slowly, and she inhaled the musk of him.</p><p>The sensation of being wanted, of feeling needed, was making it difficult for him to remain in control of his body. He wished to dive to her depths, and held her to him, wondering if she was okay, wondering if she could enjoy this. She felt lovely, and she smelled a certain way that reminded the man of something a distant past. He clung to her, and continued to slowly drive himself into her, knowing if she let him, he would willingly fall into her, gasping for air when he came up. He was aware she spoke his name, he was aware that he was asking her to speak it again to him, wishing she would speak it over and over and over. He stopped himself from slapping her with his groin, and began caressing her about the head. He continued to push slowly, wanting to feel her hair on his face, wanting to feel the warmth of her cheek against the inset of his eyes. He wanted to make her his. To take her. To fly away with her and keep her for his own. </p><p>Dettlaff stopped pushing before his base touched her.</p><p>“I’m okay,” the woman told him, his cock causing her voice to strain. She felt the fingers of his one hand reach her clitoris and began drawing circles on her there, unmoving otherwise, until she moaned, and continued moaning. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime called, her voice pitched. </p><p>“Isteţime,” he bucked, causing her to squeal, the man went still again, clutching her to him. She felt him begin to change, she felt his member begin to lengthen, it stretched her less at the tip, it filled her in a different way and she squeezed him. She felt him begin to leave her, and pulled him back in, breathing heavily.</p><p>“I can’t.” </p><p>It screeched and echoed, and she held the man about the back of his strange neck, and the back of strange neck, and kissed his cheek. </p><p>“It’s okay, Dettlaff. You don’t need to be able to.” </p><p>She felt him twitch inside her, and rolled her hips ever so slightly. It was beginning to hurt her less. It was becoming enjoyable to her.</p><p>“But you should know,” Isteţime’s intonation was difficult for her to control, “that I am enjoying this, with you.” </p><p>“Isteţime.” </p><p>The woman wanted to hear the vampire speak her name again, in his odd voice. She would take him in any way he would allow her to have him. </p><p>She rolled her hips, and he began clinging to her, and she rolled them again, and he gasped, then grunted, she rolled her hips, rolled around the hard, stiff oddity of the man, and felt him begin to nuzzle her with his nose. She rolled her hips again, and he calmed down in some way, she could feel him becoming human inside her, and she felt the tips of his finger on her clitoris again, gently, and he was kissing her face gratefully, and rolling <em> his </em> hips now, and calling her name. He filled her, touching her everywhere, and she returned the gesture. She felt him spill something wet and mildly cool in her womb.</p><p>Then, he made her come, and she crashed against the tall, dark, handsome man like a strange wave. She called his name, and realized that she was making him peak from it. She saw him stop himself from biting her, felt her heart flutter, and felt more of something cool and wet inside her when he closed his eyes, and his low voice called out to her in some odd frequency that she very much enjoyed hearing from him in his human form. </p><p>His black curls were very wet, when he pulled himself from her and rested his head against her shoulder on the small cot. </p><p>She wondered if she would ever forget the way he smelled. </p><p>“I am possessive,” he confessed, his hand drawing ellipses on the place between her breasts. He said it very guiltily, and it was so blunt that Isteţime nearly wanted to laugh. She already felt she knew this, from his behavior in the crowd, but there was malcontent in his voice.</p><p>This was the first time she felt mildly afraid since seeing him again. </p><p>“I want you to be mine,” his eyes were focused on her sternum, his face sad, as if he knew this were wrong. </p><p>Was it wrong?</p><p>“I can be,” Isteţime offered, and his eyes flickered to her, then away. The intensity of the moment’s long gaze startled her and she realized that he had, in that moment, looked <em> completely </em> wild. “Are you alright, Dettlaff?”</p><p>He closed his eyes, “I think so.” </p><p>She felt a stab in her chest. When he opened his eyes and saw her expression, he brought her close. </p><p>Isteţime heard him swallow. </p><p>“I’m afraid,” he whispered, “that you will break me.” </p><p>The lank woman wrapped her legs back around him, then her arms around him. She had already decided that she loved him. Her body told her that she did, she told herself that she did. <em> He </em> told her that she did, somehow, and that was perhaps the biggest tell to her. </p><p>Something in him told her that she loved him very much. </p><p>She didn’t know how to tell the large predator that she knew, that she did not think he was a monster, that she <em> herself </em> was not a monster. She moved to sit atop him. </p><p>“I will win your trust someday, Dettlaff” she stated simply, “if you let me.” </p><p>He was looking at her with soft eyes. His handsome chest bare, his arms powerful, his shoulders capable. </p><p>“I think that I do trust you, Isteţime.” </p><p>This made Isteţime smile until she laughed, and she saw that the man’s eyes had begun twinkling, and that despite himself he was smiling at the sight of her so. </p><p>“I missed you, you know,” she bit her lip. Perhaps telling him these things was a <em> good </em> idea. Did he pick up on things like this without them being explicitly stated? Could he smell it?</p><p>His expression was locked somewhere between flattered and concerned for her, guilty. Then, the vampire’s lips pursed in a way that suggested he actually had wanted to smile. </p><p>“Regis informed me that you were unhappy,” the smile left his mouth, “that I was alone?”</p><p>Isteţime nodded, wondering what else he had told Dettlaff. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“I didn’t want you to be lonely.” </p><p>His peculiar expression returned, and she had to stop from flinging herself into him for the rest of time. He noticed, and smiled with a closed lip. </p><p>“Will you smile with your teeth for me?”</p><p>His smile left.</p><p>“What?” His voice was guarded. </p><p>“I, I’m sorry,” the woman tried to calm him, “I just...I enjoy your smile, Dettlaff.” </p><p>The movement of his chest made her think he was afraid, now. </p><p>“I like your sharp teeth,” she continued, and he shut his eyes tightly. </p><p>“Why?” He whispered. </p><p>The woman’s insides fell. </p><p>“Oh...Oh, no,” Her voice was incredibly sad, and she held the large body below her, laying to his side and bringing him to her. The man’s tears wet her skin. </p><p>“Why do you accept me?”</p><p>His hands were at her side, arms around her middle.</p><p>“I think that I <em> love </em> you, Dettlaff.” </p><p>The man cried.</p><p>“You couldn’t.” </p><p>Isteţime lifted the vampire’s face so that he was looking her in the eyes. She watched his pupils broaden when they drank her in. He continued to stare back into her eyes; she realized they were growing soft again. She was experiencing the strangest phenomena.</p><p>“You love me,” she whispered. </p><p>He nodded, pulling her in to him and kissing her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW's: feelings of abandonment, loneliness, descriptions of sex between two consenting adults, descriptions of a penis, mild fluff monster sex listen i don't make the rules, lol! </p><p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter!</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Opulent Fair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They reach Ard Skellig. Jon finds Isteţime Eira on the docks with her strange mentor and insists they go searching for baked goods, among other things to get them settled.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a short chapter (many of them will be short henceforth).</p><p>The sketch for this painting is at the end of the chapter. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>The boat met Kaer Trolde harbor of Ard Skellig at last. Dettlaff, in his inclination to put distance between himself and humans, had taken long breaks on the sea air instead of sitting in the small, cramped cabin for most of the journey. Isteţime noticed with reservation his general distaste in humans extended further than being in a crowd of them, and had idly sat seaside at the stern, staring at the new horizon, wondering if that were something she could change in him, undo in him like some loose string that was key to a tattered knot. </p><p>Kaer Trolde citadel sat like a beacon on top of its throne, and the silver haired woodworker awed at it as she, alone in the current of people, unboarded the ship. She’d been startled by the warm embrace of Dettlaff as soon as she stepped onto the dock- still unused to the new tricks of an immortal lover, unbound to a physical form and eager. He swept her from the board and to his body. Looking up at him, she saw that the color of his eyes fit rather well in this new environment, and laughed at the silliness of the thought. </p><p>His wolf eyes smiled at her in return. </p><p>Their nights were to be spent in The New Port Inn and various cabins that dotted the city’s outskirts- as theirs was a sizely lot. Although most had been waiting to take this occasion seriously for the better part of their adult lives, the students became small children excited for a gifting holiday at the prospect of the seminars. Their mentors largely rolled their eyes. To Dandelion in particular, the necessity of this trip had seemed to become more and more doltish. It was true, the bard acknowledged, that once off in years past woodworkers and artists sought to visit the Skellige Isles for inspiration, but now those artists were all retirees, living lazily in the archipelago, whose lectures he found more or less <em> babbling </em> on the few days out of the year they left their isolated, woodley cabins. </p><p>Walking with the long, black leather clad arm of her lover around her tightly, Isteţime took in the sights of the port city as the newly rambunctious crowd made its way through the docks. It was midday yet- the sun fully shining, and she wondered what they would have them do. She had given up on the itinerary once she believed herself abandoned by her mentor, and hadn’t given much thought to it since. On the boat she had been too busied with the reshaping of her sculpture’s face to think of schedules. </p><p>“Eira!” </p><p>The tall woman was pulled from her musings, and turned to see Jon running up through the crowd at her. She felt the arm around her unwrap itself as he came to a stop and hugged her, his eyes excitedly welcoming the surrounding views as he spoke, a little winded.</p><p>“What are you doing here?!” The muscled man set her back on her feet, having not noticed the dark figure beside his friend, nor the dangerous sound that had come from him. They began walking, Dettlaff in step beside the silver haired woman. “I thought that you’d given up all hope! I’m glad to see you got over that no-good...”</p><p>“Jon,” Isteţime coughed, loudly, allowing her eyes to go wide as they approached the steps off the dock.</p><p>The man noticed, now. His mouth dropped at Isteţime being picked up and walked down the steps, held to the side of some odd stranger. The strange man kissed her forehead, and the woman’s face turned the shade of a fig upon being set down. </p><p>“This is Dettlaff van der Eretein,” the woman cleared her throat, “my woodcarving mentor.” </p><p>Jon put his expression back in order before greeting the tall man who moved his friend around with a simpler ease than even <em> he, </em> a <em> blacksmith </em>. He tried not to frown at the man’s frame as they moved away from the crowd forming in front of the inn, up the slope of a road. It didn’t altogether make sense to Jon; the dark haired man was quite a bit narrower than he, and yet as well as having picked her up with ease, held her two very large packing bags over his shoulder unhindered. </p><p>“And Dettlaff, this is my dear friend Jon. He’s a sculptor with a forge, if you will.” </p><p>Jon watched a warm smile form on this Dettlaff’s face when the woman spoke up to him, and watched it then slide from his gaze as he greeted, “Jon.” </p><p>“Sir Van der Eretein,” he beamed, ignoring it- his intrigue spiking, “so you’re what all the fuss has been about.” </p><p>He reached out his hand, and before Isteţime could dissuade him, Dettlaff took it. </p><p>“Fuss?” Dettlaff contemplated, before letting go.</p><p>The blacksmith looked at his friend before amending, “yeah...y’know actually, never mind. Is it cold out here or <em> what? </em> I’m finding the baker.” </p><p>“Do they have bakers here?” Isteţime laughed, her eyes thankful that he dropped the subject, and the woman noted how he was flexing his hand after shaking her mentor’s. </p><p>“They <em> have </em> to,” the blacksmith looked over his shoulder at the crowding inn, “that’s going to take awhile. C’mon, let’s see what we can find.” </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“What is this man’s obsession with baked food?” Dettlaff’s voice was curious and hushed as he asked, cocking his head back and forth at the blacksmith buying a loaf of sweet bread and a bag of molasses cookies from a makeshift street vendor. </p><p>“That’s right,” Isteţime peered at him, “you don’t eat your cookies.” </p><p>Icy blue eyes traveled down to the woman, and Dettlaff’s lips parted only for her in a smile, gently bringing her against his flank, “was it obvious?”</p><p>The silver haired woman laughed, nodding. His face became pensive. </p><p>“Do you like them?”</p><p>Isteţime bit her lip, she didn’t know how she could lie to that face, nor how she could tell him his cookies were nearly inedible. </p><p>Technically, he wasn’t asking about how they <em> tasted. </em></p><p>“I love them,” she replied, and she meant it. The vampire’s smile widened, giving onlookers not a half moment’s chance to glance his sharp teeth as he kissed her. Unbeknownst to them, they were now making a scene.</p><p>“Will you two cut it out?” Jon piped up as he approached, “I’m pretty certain you’re not supposed to be <em> involved </em> with your mentor or student.” </p><p>Dettlaff made a weird coughing noise, and the woman realized he had suppressed a hiss when he <em>detached </em> from her <em> mouth </em>. </p><p>“Speaking of mentors, Jon,” Isteţime said in a daze, truly not caring about the crowd of people around them, “where’s yours?”</p><p>“In their cabin already, preparing their lecture,” the blacksmith gave her an obvious expression. “They’re among the first of tomorrow’s.”</p><p>He turned to Dettlaff, tossing both him and Isteţime a cookie.</p><p>“When’s yours?” He asked the tall, dark man, who caught the cookie so quickly that the blacksmith’s eyes wandered.</p><p>Isteţime’s body froze. </p><p>“Tomorrow morning,” he replied, his deep voice unwavering. He was inspecting the cookie, turning it over in his hand before glancing at the blacksmith, then hesitantly bit it. </p><p>“Oh,” Jon replied, watching the man chew the food slowly. His face turned to anticipation as he spoke through his own mouthful. “Good, right?”</p><p>Dettlaff’s face contorted slightly, and he frowned at the remainder of the baked good. He shook his head ‘yes’, and Jon delighted. </p><p>“Ah, that’s molasses for you,” he turned on his heel, “come, let’s see about our rooms, or possibly cabins, Eira, Dettlaff…”</p><p>“Isteţime,” the vampire nudged the woman as they followed him down the sloping green.</p><p>The woman took the cookie from the man’s hand, stifling her laughter in the chill, salt smelling wind. </p><p>“Is it this funny?” His deep voice bellowed, seeming to be just as amused at his student’s reaction as she was at his. When she nodded, mouth covered by her hand, he took a deep breath and sighed at the sea, a grin playing on his lips as he put his arm around her the rest of the walk. </p><p> </p><p>When they arrived back at the inn, the crowd outside had become quite small, and Isteţime could see that the students and mentors were now walking around the paths of Kaer Trolde, renting carts. The woman worked her free hand, it ached from the cold. The prospect of going out to explore the island some was intriguing despite it. </p><p>A large hand wrapped itself around hers and began massaging it for her. </p><p>“Eira, Dettlaff…Oh, hello, Jon, is it? Good. We needed one more and I didn’t want just anyone…” </p><p>“Hello Dandelion,” Dettlaff greeted the bard as he skipped out the front door of the inn, looking down at some piece of parchment. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Isteţime asked, finding his behavior quite rushed.</p><p>The blonde lecturer’s eyes flickered to her and her partner.</p><p>“Damage control. If you will all follow me,” He stated brisky, pushing past them despite there being more than enough space around them. “How do you spell your last name, Jon?”</p><p> </p><p>The cabin he led them all to was as cramped as the rest. It had one shared space working as a primitive kitchen and living room. In addition, it had a private room with two small beds - one of which Jon had promptly called ‘dibs’ before jumping on top of. He eyed the small kitchen through the wooden door frame and smiled, then unpacked the flour and sugar that he had brought along to show everyone. </p><p>Dettlaff’s eyes had narrowed at that, and Isteţime wondered if it was in some sort of competition. That, and when Dandelion suggested that she take the other bed, Dettlaff’s face became even tighter. </p><p>“We will take the floor, bard.” He took a step towards the man, looking downwards at him. </p><p>“Oh-<em> kay,” </em> Dandelion scanned Isteţime’s surprised expression, “shouldn’t Eira decide where she sleeps?”</p><p>“It’s alright, Dandelion. I’m fine with the floor, really. Those cots are too short for me as it were,” Isteţime pushed past Jon, who was mumbling something along the lines of ‘<em> who </em> is <em> this guy </em>’. She took one of Dettlaff’s arms in her hands, feeling his body relax by her touch, and led him outside by the path of the woods, far beyond the earshot of those among the line of cabins.</p><p>Dettlaff looked down at her in the incoming cold of evening. He approached her, stood at her feet, and cupped her jawline with his lissome fingers. </p><p>“Let me take you,” his voice was deep and yearning. She watched his chest rise and fall. He retracted his hand and pursed his lips in anger. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime began, looking at his contorting face, “what do you mean?” She reached out, hoping to help stop him from whatever internal battle he was having, “I want to finish school. Do you mean to take me away?”</p><p>Icy blue grey eyes found the woman, and the vampire looked very sad, before he closed them. </p><p>“No,” he said simply, bringing her to him. The word rumbled, and as Isteţime wrapped her arms around his trunk, feeling him breathing, found that she hardly believed him.</p><p>She wanted to make him feel better, somehow, and remembered that she had a question. </p><p>“Do you not eat any human food at all?”</p><p>She felt his body jostle, and heard one deep, handsome chuckle. </p><p>“Is that what you’re thinking about, Isteţime?” She could hear the smile in his voice before she even looked up at him. His eyes turned to putty at seeing her face. “I do,” he ran his hand through her hair, “but apparently I do not have a palette for <em> molasses.” </em></p><p>Isteţime watched the shape of his jaw as he spoke. </p><p>“And you are going to give a <em> lecture?” </em></p><p>He held her closer, eyes getting sad. </p><p>“Yes,” he replied, “I’ve had it written since taking you on as a student.”</p><p>The silver haired woman put her face to his chest, and felt him hold her. </p><p>“I had never intended to leave,” his voice was regretful.</p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime smiled, “Well, you’re here, now. Lecture written for months…” she looked up at the man, “undoubtedly because you're nervous.” </p><p>“Isteţime, how could <em> I, </em>” his eyes narrowed at her, but she was beginning to laugh at him, and it was making it difficult for him to not laugh with her. “That is it.” </p><p>The nearly laughing vampire picked up the giggling woman and, tossing them both through the air, pounced with her to the ground, landing softly as a cradle. He began unleashing the overstimulation of his glee on the woman he held atop his body through an impassioned kissing. Isteţime was still fighting laughter from it all including his now ticklish nipping, when his lips left her neck, and her face, her hair, and her lips. </p><p>“You don’t have to attend dinner,” she told the man, still cradled by him in the cold grass. She held his cheek. </p><p>“I do not enjoy Jon,” Dettlaff closed his eyes, nuzzling her palm. </p><p>“You sound different when you’re...is this purring?”</p><p>His purring stopped, and his body froze. </p><p>“I like it,” Isteţime added, and the purring continued. He looked very peaceful. “You don’t have to worry about Jon, Dettlaff. He would probably be as interested in you as he would me, but I’ve never seen him romantically involved with anyone. We’ve been friends for ages, besides.”</p><p>Dettlaff made an unsatisfied grunt.</p><p>“I believe,” he started picking her up, “we should get you inside, now. Where it is warm. I have something for you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Spilling Into Her</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dettlaff van der Eretein is annoyed with Jon, but is <em>dealing</em> with it. He notices that his Isteţime Eira is, overall, a sick human and wants to help her because he has BIG feelings for her. Dandelion ran off to chill with seals or something for a hot minute. </p><p>Also, muffins!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AHhhhhh!!!! This chapter, lol. </p><p>CW's in the end notes. ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Events he would not normally</em><br/>
<em>have been interested in but now went to because she was there. He is a man</em><br/>
<em>who fasts until he</em><br/>
<em>sees what he wants. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime was still a little startled by the gift he’d given her. She was also startled by the size of, what Dettlaff had claimed to be, a perfectly average grey wolf. The coat of which was now being worn by the tall, silver haired woman.</p><p>“Isn’t that heavy?” </p><p>Jon had asked this several times already. He had asked her the night prior during the welcoming feast when they were alone; he had asked her that morning after her cloaked new lover, months-standing mentor had gone out for things Jon hadn’t pried about; he asked her now, on the way to that lover’s lecture on woodcarving. The woman felt the grey wolf’s paw between her lithe fingers as they ambled towards the amphitheater. It stood on the side of a long sloping prairie whose flowers had all died with the snow. </p><p>“Jon,” Isteţime started, her forehead peaking out beneath the wolf’s snout- which hung in form above her brow. “Is there something you would like to say about my new jacket?”</p><p>“No, it just,” he shrugged his girthed shoulders, made girthier by the set of furs he himself wore, “looks burdensome.”<br/>
The muscled blacksmith didn’t give her his attention when he said it, instead focused off to some direction that was neither her’s nor the path’s, and went quiet. </p><p>“Burdensome?”</p><p>Isteţime stopped, and started to chuckle.</p><p>“Jon, I have a feeling you’re talking about something else.”</p><p>“Aha!” He twirled in the snow, his index finger fixed in her direction, “so you admit he’s a burden?”</p><p>“If I thought he was a burden, I wouldn’t be with him.” </p><p>The tone in the woman’s voice cut through the crisp, morning air, and caused the blacksmith to squint through the sun at her expression. </p><p>“Well he’s <em> something.” </em> Jon stood straighter, crossing his arms. “Can we talk about this? He eyes me like he wants to kill me.” </p><p>His focus traveled to her headdress and pointed at it next.</p><p>“He looks at me like <em> that.” </em></p><p>“You’re being entirely over-dramatic.”</p><p>“No, I’m not Eira.”</p><p>“Alright, so he’s wary of you. He’s had a speckled past with relationships, and I apologize that he’s being rude, for now. He’s a hermit for a reason, I suppose those reasons have to surface from time to time.”</p><p>“Well can’t you find a boyfriend who is <em> less </em> hermit...y?”</p><p>The woman laughed again, “and throw away this perfectly <em> good </em> one?!”</p><p>“Eira, you’re laughing way too hard at that.”</p><p>“Ah,” she sniffled, taking his arm and continuing their path to the amphitheater, “I guess the thought of leaving him is so absurd I found it funny.”</p><p>“No!” Jon groaned, “what are you...<em> in love?” </em></p><p>He saw the woman bite her lip. </p><p>“I’m sure any number of men around campus would be happy to slay wolves for you if you’d only ask them to.”</p><p>“Alright, Jon,” Isteţime pat his arm, “that’s enough, or you’ll start to annoy me. Dettlaff stays. I’ve already talked to him about you, so you know. He’s trying his best.”</p><p>“That makes it <em> so </em> much worse,” Jon eyed the small wooden stage, then down to where her tall, dark, leather-clad mentor stood off at the side of it facing away and was examining his fingers. “Gods, do you think he’ll do it with his <em> claws?” </em></p><p>“Will you be quiet?”</p><p>The amusement in Isteţime’s tone was thinning as the crowd grew thicker around them.</p><p>“What?” Jon replied, getting himself more worked up, “Look at them, they’re thick as a hound’s!”</p><p>Isteţime pulled the man’s arm so that he was closer to her, “Jon.” </p><p>“I mean honestly,”</p><p>Several people sitting around were beginning to shift their attention in the direction the large blacksmith was pointing, straight to Dettlaff, who had turned to observe Isteţime some time before.</p><p>“Jon.”</p><p>“Have you seen his <em> mouth?” </em></p><p>The silver haired woman yanked the man hard into his seat, taking her's directly afterwards. </p><p>“If you shut your be-damned mouth, I’ll buy you a muffin after this.”</p><p>“Well the <em> jokes on you,” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Shhhh!” </em>
</p><p>He lowered his voice.</p><p>“Well the <em> jokes on you, </em> Eira, because I’m already baking some back at the cabin. Yeah, that’s so. Want to guess who stared seven spears through my back the entire time I was mixing in the elderberries, too?”</p><p>“He <em> picked </em> you those elderberries.”</p><p>“It’s about the <em> principal, </em> Eira!”</p><p>Isteţime rolled her eyes and, after adjusting the brim-- or rather <em> snout-- </em> of her hood, assessed the stage.</p><p>“Gods, I am not even listening. I hope he does well, with this whole thing. He seemed nervous. Way more nervous than I’ve ever seen him,” she eyed her new sleeves and felt a small comfort.</p><p>“He murdered a grey wolf.”</p><p>“Well he’s a fucking va--”</p><p>Jon watched the woman throw herself into a very peculiar coughing fit, her face going completely red.</p><p>“He’s a <em> what, </em> now?”</p><p>He ogled back at the stage and shivered.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“No,” Jon nodded himself into his enthusiasm, “no I’d rather like to know what else mister prince charming has up his sleeves.”</p><p>“Mister and Prince are both titles so why don’t you just choose one.” </p><p> </p><p>It was at that time, before Jon could regain his composure, that horns started. An older gentleman in a coat not dissimilar to Isteţime’s, but that of a bear, stood at the oped and began speaking to the crowd. The silver haired woman searched for her vampire, but couldn’t find him, until suddenly, he was on stage, waiting to be called up to speak. </p><p>“I think I’m going to be sick,” she covered her mouth with her hand. </p><p>“Going to be?” Jon glanced up at the stage. “He’s doing <em> fine.” </em></p><p>He watched his friend excuse herself to many bodies between him and the aisle, then run up and off it back the way they’d come, before her mentor even started speaking. </p><p> </p><p>Jon applauded along with the rest of the crowd when Dettlaff van der Eretein finished his surprisingly romantic speech on the importance of a correctly sharpened ferrule and a demonstrative replication of the Oseberg ship’s dragon head. </p><p>On the way back to the cabin, the blacksmith began contemplating the misguidance of judging a book by its cover and applying it to his recent maltreatment when Dettlaff appeared abruptly from behind a large fir tree and approached him. </p><p>“Where is Isteţime?”</p><p>“Um, hello, Dettlaff. That was a very nice speech-<em> aaand </em> you’re walking away.”</p><p>Jon picked up his step to follow the tall, dark haired mentor who was veering away from the direction of the cabin. </p><p>“Well, I’d suspect she would be back eating my muffins by now.”</p><p>He heard the woodcarver make a grumbling noise, only coarser. </p><p>“Did you just <em> growl </em> at me, Mister Van der Eretein? And why are you walking <em> away </em> from the cabin? Your cadence is <em> unruly.” </em></p><p>“Because she is not there, <em> Jon. </em>”</p><p>The blacksmith’s name came out in a hiss, and surprised the student. </p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“How would one think?” </p><p><em> “What?” </em> Jon tripped over the trunk Dettlaff had nimbly stepped over. He appraised the ground. “How could you have gone back to the cabin, checked, <em> and </em> walked halfway back to the amphitheater before I even managed to get to the cabin?”</p><p>When he glanced up, Dettlaff had his hand extended to him. He took it, and allowed himself to be pulled up.</p><p>“Perhaps I trip over fewer fallen trees.” Dettlaff’s eyes went to John’s face, and saw that the blacksmith had smiled. The blacksmith then saw that the woodcarver’s eyes had likewise become less strained. They stood in the snow, viewing the slope of the hill, to the southwest of Kaer Trolde. “I do not understand why she left the lecture.” </p><p>“Ah," Jon pat the snow off his trousers, "she was nervous for you.”</p><p>“Nervous,” Dettlaff scanned sidewards at the man, <em> “for </em>me?”</p><p>“Yeah buddy,” Jon cleared his throat at the man’s re-narrowing eyes, “I mean, <em> Mister Van der Eretein, </em> Eira cares about you.”</p><p>The dark haired mentor’s head did a funny thing, then. </p><p>Jon watched as the man’s black curls bounced, head snapping to peer over his shoulder. His light grey eyes fixated northwest, directly at a figure walking towards their cabin.</p><p>“There,” his deep voice rumbled, and he started towards her. </p><p>“Is,” Jon squinted at it, “is that Eira?”</p><p>He hurried down the slope after the tall, dark haired man.</p><p>“How did you <em> do </em> that?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Isteţime was recovering from the borrowed stagefright, nearly back to the cabin. Her fingers had begun prickling from the prolonged exposure to cold when she saw two separate figures making their way down the slope. </p><p>“Jon and Dettlaff?”</p><p>The fur covered man was obviously harassing the other, trying to catch up with her mentor’s ever quickening pace. </p><p>“That can’t be good.” </p><p>When her friend slipped and fell, she saw Dettlaff peer over his shoulder, before the glint of his eyes locked onto her, and he disappeared. </p><p>“Isteţime.”</p><p>She turned around to see the man standing next to the cabin. </p><p>“Your friend is tiresome,” he smiled, walking to the woman and hugging her. “You left.”</p><p>“I was nervous.”</p><p>He peered down at her, and saw that doing so had caused her a slight shudder. “For me?”</p><p>“Yes,” she pressed her nose to the front of his jacket.</p><p>When Isteţime dug her face out of his chest, out of the area that did not have a brooch or buckle, she saw that he was staring at her, a smile on his mouth. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she told him. </p><p>“I do not mind,” his smile widened, “that you were worried for me.” </p><p>His smile vanished, and his hand went to cup her face.</p><p>“Are you still worried?” </p><p>To Isteţime’s horror, she saw his nostrils flare. </p><p>“You were sick.”</p><p>“Nerves.”</p><p>Dettlaff cocked his head to the side.</p><p>“Are all humans this...fragile?”</p><p><em> “Hey,” </em> Isteţime began. She <em> was </em> going to scold him, <em> would </em> have scolded him, if it were not for the unforeseeable amount of concern that was shaping his expression. She took a deep breath and instead answered honestly. “No.”</p><p>He nodded, slowly.</p><p>“Is that a problem?”</p><p>His hand left her face, and gripped her chin with a force that surprised her.</p><p>“Nothing about you, Isteţime, is a problem.”</p><p>The woman was trying to hide her surprise when his light grey eyes darted above her head, focusing on something growing closer. The woman heard Jon calling her name.</p><p>“Ugh,” her mentor grunted. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Nearly a week had gone by since they first arrived in Skellige, and the vampire wanted nothing more than for them all to leave, and soon, though it would be four more weeks of their studies abroad. He did, however, begin to see small changes in the woman, ones he could sense she found exciting, and thus was excited for her about. The sketchbook he usually kept in his workshop now accompanied him everywhere, on Ard Skellig. He drew the woman, her hands, her contemplative eyes as she assessed her work when he guided her. He enjoyed guiding her hands, he enjoyed the feeling of her slender fingers in his. </p><p>It was the sixth day of their stay- Jon fully flicking the root of his nerves, Dandelion fully fanning the stoked flames from his embers, he again calmed himself by watching the silver haired woman. That night, opening his sketchbook, Dettlaff wrote. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The small markings on the thumbs of her statue. I noticed these small imperfections. The figure’s face has been marred- reworked, but not out of uncertainty and I have no answer as to why. I do not believe she wants me to know her statue’s secrets.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I have not asked.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She sleeps now. I can see her mouth twitching every so often and I imagine she is dreaming of a world where her thumbs do not ache and I do not have to mar my face; hide in public. The slender pillars of her hands she molds into balls and relaxes. It causes me pain to see it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I have wondered in the past if she would meet my estranged family. If she would join it, but I cannot see a world where a human would want such things. I could not see a world where a human could want me, either. So it is possible.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The statue with imperfect thumbs and a marred face has a sleeve she carved when she was angry. It is like feeling the rhythm of a wardrum in the moment it is lost to chaos. The hands of the figure were carved when she was stubborn. His collar when she was lonely- most of it, when she was lonely. The lower half she was gleeful. The face reworked, rushed... and without reason.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I do not believe she wants me to know her statue’s secrets. I have not asked. When I observe her, I wonder why I have not. She instructs me careless. I have never cared more.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She is changing. I find that I am proud of her, if that is possible. It is. If I deserve to be. She is understanding that wondrous thing that I had forgotten. That a thing can change, and I have been the villain in some book, at the long hour of believing nothing is permanent except for my life. Perhaps she is changing me. The fear of ownership, the fear of being owned. It seems foolish, now. My inability to accept that she could care about me. It seems foolish, now. It is still in me, I know. I love her. Regis tells me that there is a woman who can help her with her ailment here, in Skellige.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sharpened piece of charcoal came to a stop as the woman readjusted herself, lifting her head. His eyes gleamed like diamonds in the firelight, reflecting like a hunting panther in the room’s dark. The woman’s mouth furled into a smile, the furs around her, the wolf coat that he made for her on her skin made his mouth dry. He wanted to take her and be with her somewhere alone. He wanted her on a primal level. He wanted her to live in his cottage and he wanted to watch her hands build things without aching. </p><p>The burl of his neck dipped handsomely, and the woman frowned at it. </p><p>“Dettlaff?”</p><p>She spoke his name so freely; the tone of her voice warmed him and made him feel like jutting into her, spilling into her and staying there. </p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>Her green hazel eyes were appraising. The vampire put his arm around the woman who was now pressing her body against him, and he slid- setting his journal to the side as he did- until he was laying with her. He rubbed his nose against her face, her cheek, the section between her own nose, beneath the tear duct. He did this often. </p><p>“I would ask a favor of you,” he could sense the shakiness of his own voice, he spoke quietly. He felt the calming fingertips of the woman running through his hair. Before he knew it he had her in his vice, the entirety of her front against his own. He drew circles on her skin with his thick nails. His legs intertwined with her's eagerly, his feet dancing, his toes cautious not to scratch her. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“There is a vampire, one of my kind who lives in these islands,” he could feel her lips grazing the stubble of his neck slow their movements, “Regis believes she could help you.”</p><p>“Help me?”</p><p>The woman’s voice was mildly annoyed, and the man had to stop the action of recoiling from her. From flinching away like a beaten dog. Isteţime noticed, he realized. She held him tighter, she kissed his neck. It calmed him, and he breathed. The desire to take her to the vampire woman grew in him. </p><p>“Yes, help you, Isteţime.” </p><p>He smelled her change at the sound of her name. Noticed her start to smell the way she often does when she is thinking about him. She smells most wild to him when she is, and because of this, also smells most like home and the things he finds comfortable. </p><p>“Is it obvious?”</p><p>“Isteţime,” Dettlaff unwrapped her arms from him to look her in the eyes. He ran his hand through her short silver hair and gave her a soft smile, “is it so important if others see that you are unwell? You are not weak.”</p><p>“But I <em> am,” </em> her jaw flexed as if she’d eaten something sour. </p><p>“You are stronger than I am in so many ways,” he held her chin, gently, and kissed her by the cheekbone. “Please, Isteţime. I do not want you to be in this pain.” </p><p>He could feel himself becoming stressed. There was heat becoming more intense in his face, his breathing was quickening. He pressed his face against her's and held her. </p><p>“I might beg you.”</p><p>“I will, Dettlaff.”</p><p>He felt the calming feeling of her fingers running through his hair. </p><p>“If you teach me urnes style.” </p><p>The vampire let out a deep, relieved chuckle. </p><p>“You are a sassy apprentice, Isteţime,” he breathed the words into her neck, his hands were gripping the curve of her waist into her hips. He gripped them harder when he found she smelled of his wilderness. </p><p>“What were you writing?” </p><p>His grip neither tightened or loosened.</p><p>“I don’t mind if you were writing about me.” </p><p>“I was.” </p><p>“Hm,” she sounded satisfied. Dettlaff reveled in it, putting his nose back to her neck and smelled her, gently nipping at her when she asked, “Why were you writing about me?”</p><p>“Because I love you, Isteţime.” </p><p>He heard her breath hitch at the word. He felt her heart beat faster in her vulnerable human body. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” her voice trailed off as he started to kiss her neck. His hands found her thighs. Then he was cradling the back of her head, smelling the soft silvers of her hair. He felt her clawing at him, and noticed that she had lifted her nightgown. “Are they awake?”</p><p>“No,” his mouth was against her's, and he turned her so that she was facing away from him, the cushion of her seat against his front and he snarled, quietly into her ear. </p><p>“If they see you…”</p><p>He could hear the worry in her voice, though it lasted as long as it took for him to begin massaging her, to find her. He was determined to remain in his human form. He watched her pink lips in the firelight shift to grey as she turned from it, to the moonlight spilling in from the window. </p><p>Dettlaff rolled his hips into her. He didn’t bother covering them. If someone roused, he would simply stop them from opening the door until she was dressed. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” she called his name again, her voice falling further into his wilderness. He bucked, before quickly undressing himself. He felt her skin against his, rubbing the woman faster, falling into her excitement as he entered her. </p><p>He didn’t know what awoke in his body, in that moment. He was not changing into his vampiric form, but he could feel the canines of his mouth elongating, calling him to sink into her skin and draw from her. To take everything she had to give. </p><p>The woman moaned when he bucked himself further inside her, and he shuddered. She called his name, and he took her in his hands, rutting again, feeling his lower body quake. His abdomen tight, pushing himself further by the hip and the flex of his ass. He pulled himself out of her slowly, listening to the quiet, raspy moan she released when he did. He felt it in the base of him. He wanted to cum. He rubbed the woman more, and felt her warmth constrict on the soft skinned, rounded head of his cock. He kept that part inside of her. He shuddered. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” she reached back for him, gripping him by his dark curls and pulling it. He hissed, euphoria edging towards him. He bucked into her, and she was grasping for him, now. She was calling out his name, becoming louder than just her whispers and he gently held her mouth with his hand. When he realized she was <em> kissing </em> the palm of it he bucked again. He was beginning to call out, and sank his fangs into her shoulder. The taste of her blood was overwhelming- there was so much of her that he was experiencing. He felt his orgasm spill into her, and pushed himself as far as he could, holding her against him with his legs, getting deeper. He felt her hand on his against her mouth, felt the fingers of her other caressing his scalp and jaw despite his biting her. Despite his being latched onto her.</p><p>Dettlaff pulled himself from her, and drew one last swill from her shoulder. He took her upper arm in one hand, held her hand running through his hair with his other to keep her steady, then detached himself, letting his fangs retract from the woman. The feeling of her small wrists caused him to consider how fun it might be to tie her...</p><p>He realized immediately that his face felt scalding, blushing, when she turned to him. Her features were being colored by the firelight once more. The palm of his hand was against her cheek without him noticing he put it there. </p><p>The vampire thought she would have ran, or have been upset. He feared this was a line that he had crossed. It had been one of many lines in the past. So many he could not count. </p><p>Only Isteţime simply gazed up at him, the entire navigational system of the night sky in her eyes despite the roof above them. He held the woman to himself. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Isteţime woke with her face against Dettlaff’s upper chest. He had his hand cradling the back of her head, another holding her to him about her waist. From the smell of the room, Jon had already been up and cooking breakfast. From the smell coming from the <em> bedroom, </em> Dandelion had already fully perfumed himself, and was probably out for the day. </p><p>“Where is everyone?” </p><p>The woman’s voice was gravelly in the morning, pushing herself up to examine him.</p><p>He smiled, his sharp teeth peeking out behind his thin, vampiric lips.</p><p>“Gone.” </p><p>She flopped back onto him, “don’t tease me in the morning when I'm still half dreaming.”</p><p>“Hmm,” his deep voice rumbled against her front, and she felt his fingers massaging her head. “I’ve wanted to know what it is you dream of since we met.”</p><p>“Since we met?”</p><p>“Since the day we met, yes.”</p><p>She squinted up at him, his eyes lighting up unabashedly. </p><p>“I don’t always remember.” </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>He sounded disappointed. </p><p>“Yeah, human dreams are sometimes nonsense.”</p><p>“Oh?” His voice now of intrigue, “such as?”</p><p>“I once dreamt I was on a very large ship that my childhood dog was the captain of, and he had been wearing a captain’s hat, and the king of Temeria wished us a safe journey on the dock.”</p><p>“That is ridiculous.”<br/>
“I told you,” she sat up, putting on her socks and taking in the small, sunny cabin. The trees outside the windows were swaying, and she thought she had gotten a whiff of leftover coffee from the pot on the table. She wrapped her new coat around her. “Do you dream, Dettlaff?”</p><p>“Mmmm,” he hummed familiarly, as she had become accustomed to him doing at the sound of his name on her lips. “I do, sometimes, when I sleep.”</p><p>“Of?”</p><p>“My family.”</p><p>“I dream of you sometimes,” Isteţime prompted, running a hand through her silver hair as she walked towards the pot and became excited at the remnants. </p><p>“As I said,” the vampire stood, naked and muscular, stretching like a cat. The woman tried to ignore his perfect physique, but she blushed into her cup. He walked towards her, and she felt the length of his index finger run beneath her chin, before he pushed it up with its pad and kissed her, “I dream of my family.” </p><p>“Mm,” Isteţime considered. She let it settle. She closed her eyes. </p><p>She really quite liked that. </p><p>When she opened her eyes, she saw that the vampire man was going through his sketchbook, and retrieved from it a piece of paper which did not fit with the rest. He held it up between two of his long, lissom fingers and she saw the deep golds of the parchment warm in the sunlight. Then, reading it over again, stated in his deep voice, “she lives in An Skellig.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW's: depictions of a silver haired woodcarving woman having sex with a big, sexy vampire who is a little crazy about her. . .</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. -</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dettlaff giving Isteţime her coat &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p>Here's the sketch :)</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shout out to TheDevilishlyAngelic for just being a great person. :'3</p><p>Next chapter will be up this coming weekend because of my body and mind's technical difficulties.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Stood At the Ivory Mantle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They sail to An Skellig. See someone that they did not expect, and find out that our girl is...uh. ;)</p><p>I said chapters were going to be shorter and I am trying to not exceed 5K anymore. This one is 4.5K. I am a wordy little baby! </p><p> </p><p>I hope this is fluffy as heck!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WELL I deleted all the versions of what could have been this chapter. They were extremely different from this and pokey, then I took last weekend off and wrote this today on a whim but I am <em>feeling</em> it. ~~~~ I've been hesitant about this point in the story because it could have gone one of two ways, but I realized that I actually <em>didn't</em> feel like completely breaking my own heart and possibly some others so here this is! </p><p>ALSO! I'm a [expletive deleted] for [redacted] Dettlaff soooooo. </p><p> </p><p>Okay I'm done lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sea that lies east of Ard Skellig is home to several minor islands. Among the small land masses are two more considerable than the rest. The names of the considerables are Hindarsfjall and An Skellig. </p><p>These isles may not appear to be linked in any manner that isn’t purely intrinsic or natural- a manner besides the very subaqueous geography that binds them. However, the two considerable islands had become artificially linked, through the human creation of rumors. Hindarsfjall had purportedly experienced several odd and gruesome murders spanning the past fifty years, and through the loud, near constant conniving of one disgruntled Larvik resident named Thove, the other denizens would too come to blame these deaths on the strange woman. To be more clear, this was the strange woman who once, twice, or maybe even a good few times visited Hindarsfjall from its northern sister isle An Skellig. It didn’t matter that this woman had only visited once, twice, or maybe even a good few times over the past five years, nor that these “murders” were merely vastly spaced accidents. Likewise did it not matter that that cliff jumping, sailing through siren colonies and a local werewolf inhabitant were mortal hazards and cause enough for a few unfortunate and untimely deaths. To the people of Hindarsfjall it was clear that <em> this </em> woman, strange and unsettling, witnessed by one or two people, <em> definitely </em> by Thove, and at most witnessed once, twice, or maybe even more than a <em> few </em> times, was the issue. </p><p>Over the span of five years Thove drove the legend of the woman from primary suspect to overall curse of the land and sea. In fact, so commonplace was it to blame her (again, by many this was someone they’d never met nor seen), that colloquialisms damning her name and a many other unpleasantries became a part of the southern island’s vernacular, though they were bad luck to use aloud. A woman might attempt to open a jar of marmalade only to find it was stuck and curse her; a fisher might pull in their catch to see a hole gaping through their empty net and spit her name at the slick rock (and so on and so forth).</p><p>Thus, it would come as a surprise for many to learn that this single resident of An Skellig does not spend much of her time traveling to and from Hindarsfjall committing these heinous murders and mild inconveniences. In fact, several of <em> both </em> island’s residents would be downright astonished, <em> flabbergasted </em> to discover that their prejudices (however nearly correct in this scenario but substantially due to inexcusable and rather abhorrent hearsay) were in fact just that: rumors. </p><p>Ava Lindskjalf (pronounced HLINTH-skyahlf, for the unacquainted), is a modern vampire woman who lives on An Skellig and is, in fact, precisely our person-in-legend. She had done <em> everything </em> in her power to assimilate. She quit smoking pipe due to human double standards, she learned to cook fiskisósagrautur- an inedible yet native dish of fish gravy-saturated-porridge, she learned how to cook sturgeon roasted to golden perfection in a sea-salt crust and served it with carrot shavings and a sprinkling of mint, she changed her name from Kir Rono to the more <em> seawardly </em>Ava Lindskjalf. She changed her wardrobe. She revived her knowledge of barely relevant and dying gods. She polished off her “pleases” and her “thank yous”.</p><p>Her efforts were fruitless because the Isles were still adjusting to the idea of powerful women, and the vampire Ava was an expert in medicinal sciences as well as general alchemy. She intimidated Skelligen men and had, until the rumors took hold, incited curiosity a for freer life in Skelligen women. </p><p>Most importantly she once turned down Thove, who had been romantically interested in her (and probably still <em> is). </em> This was the true birth to her infamy in the more considerable isles in the seas eastward Ard Skellig.</p><p>...and she didn’t even <em> eat </em> people.</p><p>
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</p><p>“I do not understand why he is so persistent,” Dettlaff sighed, his voice deep and close to Isteţime, covered from the others by the howling of the wind.</p><p>“He’s worried,” she replied, but couldn’t completely manage to hide the annoyance in her own voice. Jon was taking moments here and there from enjoying the views to scowling across the mid sized runner boat at the handsome vampire. </p><p>“I think I am realizing this,” Dettlaff replied, staring at the man sullenly- causing him to take interest in the clouds overhead. He returned his interest to Isteţime, “are you feeling better, Visotrok?”</p><p>“Yes, though this boat ride isn’t helping my chances once we arrive.” </p><p>“Hmm,” Dettlaff leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, “I will take care of you.“ Then, he unwrapped her from his arms and stood. To Isteţime’s surprise, he walked over to the blacksmith who was admiring everything that wasn’t the approaching masculine body. He had walked without wobbling despite the waves, and crossed his arms when he arrived at the young man’s seat- and in ignoring him Jon made himself look ridiculously put-<em>off.</em></p><p>Dettlaff continued to stare down at him. His head was cocking. Humans were only becoming more and more <em> odd </em> to him.</p><p>“Jon.” </p><p>“Hm? Oh!” He feigned surprise, before dropping it and sighing. “What do you want?”</p><p>“May I sit?”</p><p>Jon’s eyelids tightened.</p><p>“No,” he replied just as the vampire took the seat on the bench next to him, water from the wave break splashing up and misting the back of his neck. “Oh, well don’t mind if you do.”</p><p>“It has occurred to me,” Dettlaff was trying very hard to find the most <em> human </em> sounding way to put this, but could feel his heart rate climbing from anxiety, “that you dislike and distrust me.”</p><p>He considered this sentence very well executed and he relaxed. Jon, however, had <em> not </em> been expecting this forward conversation, consequently and momentarily gaped before finding <em> his </em> heart rate increased. </p><p>“What? No!” </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Jon stared at the man sitting beside him as his eyes wandered to the bench across the boat and his forehead tensed in contemplation. He denied an urge to jump when Dettlaff’s icy eyes quickly slipped back to him, frowning.</p><p>“Are you certain?” </p><p>It was for the first time that Jon felt somewhat <em> bad </em> for this man. <em> No wonder he was a hermit, </em> he thought then. It was true, the large master woodcarver <em> had </em> stared at him murderously for the first week and a half of the trip, but had become increasingly… well, the blacksmith could tell he was <em> trying. </em> Dettlaff had been nothing but polite to him for the last two and a half weeks. He looked past the dark haired man to Isteţime, whose eyes widened marginally before focusing on the small players pieces she was carving. </p><p>Jon sighed a marvelous sigh. </p><p>“No, Dettlaff,” he admitted, “I’m not certain.”</p><p>Dettlaff nodded slowly, his eyes moving back and forth, unfocused, “hm.”</p><p>Jon thought the man looked rather pained by this entire interaction, and it was because Dettlaff grew increasingly panicked and aware of the fact that he was speaking to a human man who disliked him suspiciously on a small boat filled with other humans. </p><p>“For Eira, I’ll try to be more open minded about you.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Dettlaff nodded and walked back to Isteţime, who smiled and kissed him happily when he sat beside her on the vessel. She looked entirely too <em> proud </em> of him for being a grown man who simply had had a conversation, Jon thought, but let it go, deciding to consider the gulls and keep an eye out for white whales.</p><p> </p><p>The earth was cast in indigo as the boat docked in Urialla Harbor. Dettlaff helped Isteţime off the boat despite it not being necessary, and carried her to down the pier off the docks and into the town, even, despite her ability to walk. The desire to be close to her was unrelenting, and Isteţime herself relished it. </p><p>Jon trailed them, chilled by the evening’s wind, in the light cast from windows and torches up to the Urialla Harbour Inn. The Inn was, like most buildings in Skellige, made of wood. The common room was lit cozily and there were several locals seated around the several tables playing gwent. Garlic and other nightshades hung from the ceiling behind the counter where Jon bought a night’s stay and waited there for the inkeep to bring him a bowl of something called fiskisósagrautur. </p><p>“There you are,” the inkeep passed him the dish, raising his voice to be heard over the patrons. </p><p>“Tha-” Jon shuddered from the smell of pickled fish and the sight of dark brown porridge, “thanks.” </p><p>“Better than looks, tastier than it smells,” the inkeep winked jovially, grabbing the rag from his shoulder and picking up the tankard he’d been wiping idly since opening that morning.</p><p>Jon turned around with his bowl of fiskisósagrautur to survey the oblong dining hall. Resolutely he walked to the end of a far long table placed directly next to the roaring hearth and greeted the occupants. </p><p>“Eira, Dettlaff,” he wondered if his voice sounded wary. </p><p>Isteţime smiled and pushed the bench across from them with her long legs. Jon stared at it in a moment’s consideration before sitting. </p><p>Dettlaff smiled at him with a closed mouth and did his best to ignore the abhorrent smell escaping the man’s soup bowl. </p><p>“Excuse me, I think I’m...” Isteţime covered her mouth, before running to the door.</p><p>Jon watched the woman make a run for it. “She’s still sick?”</p><p>“Yes,” Dettlaff replied.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to go protect her from something or another as she spills her guts?”</p><p>“She’s asked me not to,” he sighed, and Jon laughed at how sad and confused he sounded. </p><p>“I mean, most people don’t want others to see them get sick, y’know,” he shrugged, looking at his bowl, thinking about how awkward this was until he felt the chill from the door opening again and Isteţime sit back down.</p><p>Dettlaff watched her, “Do you need to lay down?” </p><p>“No,” she blushed, “I’m fine.”</p><p>It was then the vampire started to feel a familiar prickling, and kept his expression unexpecting as the door to the Inn opened once more. </p><p> </p><p>Isteţime scooted closer to her vampire, feeling warm when he wrapped his arm around her. She wondered if he seemed...off, suddenly. She reached out and began massaging his neck, relaxing him slightly. She wondered if it was due to Jon’s proximity or even simply the prolonged exposure to so many humans. Or perhaps her health. </p><p>She did not have to wait long for her answer.</p><p>“Greetings,” Emiel Regis was standing across the table. He gave Jon a polite nod. “May I join you? It <em> has </em> been a rather long journey.” </p><p>“Of course, Regis,” Isteţime indicated the seat next to Jon.</p><p>“My,” Regis placed his satchel on the table as he sat, “my senses haven’t been perturbed by fiskisósagrautur in quite some time.” </p><p>“Regis,” Dettlaff was staring at him severely, “what are you doing here?”</p><p> The other vampire was sniffing the air, and raised a brow at Isteţime, “seasick?”</p><p>“Regis,” Dettlaff growled through gnashed teeth. </p><p>“I assure you,” Regis eyed the blacksmith surreptitiously, “I am only here to inform Eira and Jon that Rin is on Ard Skellig for break. She missed you all, you see, but I’m afraid she was quite tired by the time Dandelion informed us that you’d traveled <em> here </em> to canoodle, of all places.” </p><p>Jon’s face lit up as Regis spoke. </p><p>“Well,” he pushed his full bowl away from him, “consider me on the first boat out come morning. Eira?”</p><p>Regis gave her a meaningful look. </p><p>“Dettlaff and I will return after some exploring.”</p><p>“Will <em> you </em> be returning to Ard Skellig first thing as well, Regis?” Dettlaff’s dangerous expression had been replaced with curiosity, and Isteţime stopped massaging his neck to inspect the odd food Jon had pushed more or less directly in front of her. She thought it smelled fairly delicious.</p><p>“I could,” Regis replied simply, “though I rather believe you and Eira should like to have me as a guide in An Skellig. I’ve some knowledge of the area.” </p><p>Isteţime understood, then. He was the one who told Dettlaff about this person, he knew the vampire woman who lived here, and was going to help them get acquainted. She thought that would be helpful, and felt a wave of relief even, due to how unrefined Dettlaff’s social graces were. For the first time since knowing him, she felt as though he was happy to help her, to help <em> them. </em> Definitely <em> them. </em> After all, Isteţime already knew she was sick. She hadn’t much expectation of her longevity. In fact she was more than anything thankful to simply still <em> be </em>alive and able to pursue her dreams of becoming a master woodcarver. But it pained her. It pained her to think of leaving him in the world alone, yet. When her vision focused back on the scene in front of her, saw Regis’ dark eyes fixed on her. He smiled, though she thought that it was a sad smile.</p><p>“Fine,” Dettlaff rumbled. Isteţime felt his body relax. Finally took a bite of the souplike gruel. It was in fact delicious, and she settled in to finish it.</p><p>“Good,” Regis said, “we can start early tomorrow morning.”</p><p>The vampire’s nostrils twitched again and he appraised the woman like one does a puzzle. Dettlaff watched him.</p><p>“Have you got yourself a room, Regis?” Jon asked, pulling his attention from a young woman succeeding in a gwent match at another table.</p><p>“That I have not,” Regis replied. Dettlaff who, having smelled what Regis had, was wide-eyed.</p><p>“I’ve two cots in mine if you’d like to take one.”</p><p>“That would be very...I,” his cadence slowed to a lull. Jon peered at him, then to Dettlaff, both of whom were entranced by Isteţime. Regis more disgusted, Dettlaff more concerned.</p><p>“Ew, Eira,” Jon shivered.</p><p> </p><p>Isteţime peered up from the bowl she was emptying. Across from her Jon was on the edge of a giggle. Sidewards, Dettlaff’s chest was expanding and constricting visibly, his gaze frozen on the bowl. Crosswise, Regis’ smile was gone and his face was white. </p><p>“Well go on, finish it,” Jon chided, oblivious to the change in mood as he got up and approached the woman throwing her gwent cards onto the table and claiming yet another victory. </p><p>Isteţime’s stomach was beginning to feel tight, “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Regis rushed to stand, the bench screeching behind his legs, “Dettlaff, a word?”</p><p>She watched her vampire. His face was very close, his eyes traveled from the bowl to hers, “Dettlaff?” her voice was small.</p><p>He grabbed the sides of her face and pressed his lips to hers sternly. She felt the warmth of exhalation from his nose and realized he’d been holding his breath. He kissed her one more time, releasing a faint whimper as he did. </p><p>When Isteţime opened her eyes, he and Regis were walking out the door. She wrapped her aubergine shawl more tightly and considered the wolf coat. At the moment, she felt cold again.</p><p>
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</p><p>The door to the Urialla Inn slammed shut. Nighttime on An Skellig was frigid and nearing its darkest. Regis watched his friend strut past him into the dark of the seaside forest. The vampire’s eyes adjusted immediately, following the black leather coat in soft reflections of the moon. </p><p>Since arriving at the inn, the scent of the woman had become undeniable.</p><p>“She was sick this morning,” Dettlaff rumbled hoarsely, turning on a tree as if to cut it down. Regis skipped to intervene, but the other vampire restrained himself and was falling to his knees on the forest floor. “How?”</p><p>“I’ve heard of this happening in the past,” Regis worked his jaw, searching the sky, “our bodies are capable of great adaption.”</p><p>“Why did it happen?” Dettlaff massaged his temples, his face buried. Regis sat beside him, placing a hand on his back. His expression contemplative as he analyzed the possible explanations. </p><p> “The case I read of involved a bruxa. Her vampire mate killed her daughter, or something tragic such as, and she yearned for another more than anything, but despised others of our kind,” Regis chuckled, his tone conversational, “unless I’m mistaken, she ended up being able to reproduce with a rock troll.” </p><p>Dettlaff was on the verge of hyperventilating.   </p><p>“You need a pack, Dettlaff. Apparently rather urgently, judging by the speed in which your reproductive physiology has...kept pace with your interests.” Regis stopped regarding the stars, “I’m surprised by your reaction thus far. Is a pack not what you want?”</p><p>“Regis,” Dettlaff let his hands coarsely fall from his face. Regis noted his voice was huskier than usual. “Will she be able to carry it?”</p><p>“Of that I am uncertain,” Regis stood, holding out his hand and bringing his friend to his feet. He brushed off the larger vampire’s shoulders, “I’m sure there could be complications, but if the knowledge that a bruxa successfully carried a <em> rock troll </em> to term isn’t a comfort, I doubt anything will be.” </p><p>He turned to walk, and heard Dettlaff begin to follow him back to the inn. When they broke the line of warm light from the establishment’s windows, Regis smacked his forehead lightly. </p><p>“No, it wasn’t a rock troll,” he laughed, “it was a human <em> mason.”  </em></p><p>Dettlaff did not look pleased. </p><p>“Ah, it is funny how the mind conflates,” Regis opened the door for him, following him in, “I wouldn’t worry until after speaking to Ava. I learned not to underestimate her expertise a long time ago.” </p><p>“Be that as it may,” Dettlaff stopped in the doorway and looked down at his longtime companion, “what if it isn’t what <em> Isteţime </em> wants?”</p><p><em> “Oh,” </em> Regis replied. “I apologize, I hadn’t yet considered the situation in domestic terms.” He gave him a small smile, “Dettlaff,” his voice turned consoling and soft, and he held his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “I do believe that young woodcarver loves you very much.”</p><p>The dark haired vampire looked at him questioningly. </p><p>“I can admit that I see it, now,” Regis patted him, reclaimed his hand, and began walking to the table where Isteţime was sitting. “Not to mention smell it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is everything okay, Regis?” Isteţime asked as he sat down across from her. He was looking around the room. </p><p>“Jon spoke to the gwent player after all,” he said to himself, then looked at her, “Yes. I personally think ‘<em> everything’ </em> is going quite well. Though Dettlaff will want to speak to you.”</p><p>He peered over his shoulder where Dettlaff was conversing with the innkeep, then back to Isteţime. </p><p>“Is he aware yet that you know?” His dark eyes bore into her. Her throat felt dry. </p><p>“No,” she croaked, “Regis what’s going on? Is he okay?”</p><p>The vampire continued to watch her. Then, putting his elbow on the table and resting the side of his jaw on his knuckles, dazedly replied, “Yes. I suspect this is the best he has ever been.” </p><p>The clamor of ceramic smacking wood made Isteţime jump.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Dettlaff choked out, looking around the dining hall, most likely for a rag to clean up some of the fiskisósagrautur he just spilt in front of Isteţime. </p><p>She looked up at him, then to Regis who was covering his mouth with his hand and shaking his head. Isteţime’s eyes narrowed at him, and he cleared his throat. “My apologies.” </p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime reached out and gently touched his forearm, “honey it’s fine. Please sit.”</p><p>“Honey?” Regis asked. </p><p>“My mother comforts me with that name.”</p><p>He coughed, “how nurturing of you.”</p><p>“Dettlaff,” Isteţime repeated.</p><p>Appearing out of breath, the large vampire finally looked down at her. She held his gaze, and the movements of his chest began to steady. She nodded slowly at him, and holding her gaze he mimicked her. She mouthed the word “sit”, and slowly he sat beside her. In her peripherals she saw his Adam's Apple dip.</p><p>“Thank you for the porridge, Dettlaff,” she smiled, and his eyes darted about her face. They fell back onto hers. He smiled back. </p><p>“You’re welcome,” the line between his brow became more prominent, “if you are hungry, you should eat.”</p><p>“Okay,” she swallowed, looking down at her bowl. When Dettlaff put his arm around her, she thought that he had held her firmer, more securely than he had yet, and this soothed her worries for the time being. </p><p> </p><p>After finishing, she bid goodnight to Regis, who was beginning to stare at the windows with a face similar to a fisherman spinning their yarn. Dettlaff took her hand in his and led her to their room - lighting several candles and began starting the fire. </p><p>The woman could feel her nerves growing. </p><p>“Dettlaff something has happened since Regis arrived and I want to know what it is.” She watched as the flames cast a dark silhouette of his figure, and he tensed at the shoulders. He stood and walked to the window, then paced the length of the room back across to the door. </p><p>Isteţime tucked herself beneath the covers and shivered. “Will you lay next to me, please? I dislike how far away you are, Dettlaff.”</p><p>The vampire continued to pace, “I have bad news.” </p><p>She thought it looked like he would cry. </p><p>“Dettlaff van der Eretein, get under these covers and into this bed next to me.” She scooted up so that her the lower half of her face wasn’t laughably buried beneath the blankets, “I love you and that was an order.” </p><p>Dettlaff stopped pacing and stared at her, then walked to the bed and grabbed the blanket. </p><p>“No way,” she pointed to his coat. “You know the drill.” </p><p>He grumbled, beginning to undo his coat buckle by buckle. He tossed it on the ground, then looked at her. She nodded. His jaw tensed and he began undoing his shirt, she noticed that his hands were beginning to shake less by the time he removed his boots and his pants. Finally, standing naked, he looked at her. </p><p>“My gods,” Isteţime laughed, “You who constantly complains about not being able to sleep naked more in the cabin on Ard Skellig,” he slid beside her, putting his arms around her and pulling her body against his, “now thinks it’s the greatest chore to remove your clothing,” she was still laughing. Dettlaff smiled, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire a little more than hers, when she started to speak through her laughter, he kissed her before she could continue. He kissed her until she was barely laughing. He kissed her until she felt her temperature rising. When he let her back down to her pillow and rested his head on the one beside it facing her, she looked at him in a way he didn’t believe could be true. </p><p>His shakiness returned, and he closed his eyes. </p><p>“Dettlaff, please tell me what is going on.” </p><p>“Isteţime,” the vampire massaged her naked back, and she felt the sharp claw-like nails of his toes with hers, “I used to have a family.” </p><p>“Yes,” she recalled him telling her that they had left him; that he had led them astray. Her chest panged. </p><p>“They were my pack,” Dettlaff continued, “I...higher vampires have different talents, callings, or skills and...mine was that.”</p><p>“Having a pack?”</p><p>“Forming them, leading and keeping them safe,” he was beginning to fidget, and Isteţime ran her fingers through his hair in waves, “other vampires,” he swallowed. </p><p>“Then you led them astray,” Isteţime said, hoping to help him. She closed her eyes, knowing that they would betray her. She always knew herself to be a monumental cryer. The thought of his experience in Beauclair was too painful for her to consider and keep secret in the moment, she pushed out the thought and focused on the smell of his skin and the warmth of his body. She dug her face into the crease between his round chest muscles.</p><p>“Yes,” Dettlaff said slowly. “Now it seems my kind will not follow me or be in my pack, but to have a pack is my calling, and that is my...ability.” </p><p>She heard him swallow, heard his voice becoming shakier as he spoke, and looked up at him. </p><p>“So?”</p><p>She scooted up to rest her head on the pillow, and ran her hand through her silvery locks. Dettlaff’s much larger hand followed hers through her hair, then traced the line of her jaw until his fingers gently held her chin. She thought his eyes were dancing before he shut them tightly. </p><p>“I can smell your changes, Isteţime.” </p><p>She stared at him. What did <em>her</em> <em>changes</em> and <em>his</em> <em>pack</em> have to do with each other? She felt a wave of nausea bubble up from her stomach, “What do you mean you can <em>smell</em> my changes, Dettlaff?”</p><p>“Isteţime,” he breathed, “you’re with my child.” </p><p>“I’m…” her mouth felt dry,"What?" Her body was getting warm, “how can you tell? You can smell that? How is this possible?”</p><p>“I adapted,” he hesitated, “I was not aware.” </p><p>“That’s a thing?” </p><p>“Isteţime,” Dettlaff began cooing, but his voice cracked and his body stopped obeying him. He ducked his head to her chest and with a shaking voice said, “forgive me.”</p><p>“Forgive you?” She repeated, confused. Mulling the request over, asked, “Is it dangerous...for me to be?”</p><p>“I am unsure,” he quaked, having a harder time with this than she was.</p><p>She held his back and gently massaged it, hoping to calm him, and felt that her the skin of her chest had become somewhat damp. “Well, you’ve spoken to Regis. What does he think?”</p><p>He growled, “Regis is flippant.”</p><p>Isteţime laughed at that. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” she swallowed, feeling warmness swelling in her body, “Dettlaff I think that I want this.” </p><p>She felt him tense, and he looked up at her.</p><p>“That I want this with you.” </p><p>“Isteţime,” he held her across her middle, and pushed his face against her. He started to silently cry. </p><p>“Do you want this?”</p><p>"Yes," he replied desperately against her trunk. </p><p>“Then let’s worry about it,” she ran her fingers through his hair, kissing the top of the grey streaked, black mass, “when we have more reason to worry. We will be cautious, okay?”</p><p>He nodded again, and she let him cry against her until he was finished and she was near sleep. Half awake she felt him prop himself up, before he lifted her, cradling her against him protectively. The rising and falling of his chest lulled her to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm a huge sucker for dad Dettlaff. Honestly, the thought of Dadlaff gives me so much life!!!! I think he'd be a such great father! TuT</p><p> </p><p>Not to mention him crying over finally being accepted makes me so ding dang happy. Cry, you beautiful man vampire, cry!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. I Know You Have the Dove</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dettlaff, Isteţime, and Regis go and speak to Ava. Regis and Isteţime are able to have a private conversation later that evening. Dettlaff is continually adapting to being accepted by his partner, and it is sometimes a lot for him to handle. </p><p>Alright, the whole thing is just fluffity angst fluff now! I am 13 words over 5K in this but it still counts! I made the piece of art for this today, too!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: discussions regarding pregnancy.<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>Sunlight flooded the room at the Inn when Isteţime woke, feeling disheveled and rather much like she hadn’t slept at all. She looked around upon realizing her partner was absent, but after rationalizing that a centuries old vampire could very well take care of himself on a tiny island and that she didn’t in fact <em> want </em> to get out of bed, flopped back onto the mattress, covered her head with wool and closed her eyes. </p><p>The hinges on the door squeaked. Dettlaff, dressed in winter wear for show, carefully closed the door so that the latch wouldn’t sound despite the fact that he could very well tell the woman buried beneath the mound of blankets wasn’t sleeping. </p><p>“Dett<em> laff, </em> I don’t want to get up yet,” Isteţime rolled over to face him, peeking out from beneath the blanket. “Is it cold?”</p><p>The vampire bit his lip. </p><p>“Don’t laugh at me,” she whined, rolling back over. </p><p>“I am sorry,” Dettlaff removed his jacket, his boots, and his pants before sliding back into bed beside her. He wrapped his arms around her torso, pulled her across the sheets against his front and told her in her ear, “You are very...amusing, right now.” </p><p>Isteţime smiled; she felt his lips caress her neck in kisses. </p><p>“What are you doing?” She pat his head. </p><p>Dettlaff kissed her. “Rousing you,” he kissed again, this time below her ear at her jawline, and it made the woman let out a squealish giggle. </p><p>“Where were you?” She turned around to face him and he relented, resting his face on his giant palm. </p><p>“I checked if it was too cold outside,” his light blue eyes flickered around her face. She could see that he was becoming anxious when he asked, “how are you feeling?”</p><p>Isteţime pursed her lips, “Tired. Sluggish, even.”</p><p>Suddenly Dettlaff looked worried. </p><p>“It’s fine,” she smiled, “it’s not that bad. I <em> am </em> hungry, though.” </p><p>“Of course,” he sighed, “I should have brought you something just now. It was foolish of me.” </p><p>“Dettlaff,” she couldn’t help but laugh, “go easy on yourself, <em> please. </em> I don’t like seeing you beat yourself up over spilt milk.”</p><p>The vampire’s brows knit and his eyes scanned the room. </p><p>Isteţime laughed harder, “it’s an idiom.” </p><p>“I see,” he growled into her neck, “I dislike human metaphors.” </p><p>He kissed her neck again, now growling something along the lines of <em> tedious, </em> and <em> depressing, needless domestication. </em></p><p>It sent the woman into a full laughing fit, and the vampire felt her shake against him from it with a wide smile on his face. When she stopped laughing, he reiterated, “yes, you are <em> very </em> amusing.”</p><p>“The word is <em> cute… </em> I wonder if you’ll have to put up with this the entire pregnancy,” she bit her grinning lip, but that was exactly when Dettlaff’s smile fell and the vampire dug his face into her shoulder, holding her tightly to his body.</p><p>“I am so sorry,” he whispered.</p><p>“Dettlaff, I thought you wanted this.” </p><p>“Of course I want this,” his voice shook, “I can barely put into words how much... However, I,” his firm hold on her tightened until it went loose, “there are things about me, Isteţime. I can become angry and I...I have performed terrible acts,”</p><p>“Dettlaff,” she tried to hold his face, “why are you telling me this now?”</p><p>“Because I cannot rope you into this. Into me,“ he tore his head from her hands.</p><p>“You already have,” reaching out, she held the side of his face and bowed her head to meet his steely blue gaze. Immediately his eyes softened to putty. “You roped me in the first time I met you, Dettlaff. You’ve earned my affection, and I don’t need to know everything of your past. When I tell you this, I mean it. I love you for who you are right <em> now. </em> I want to have this baby with you.”</p><p>Dettlaff closed his eyes and brought her forcefully to him, holding her tightly. </p><p>“You are a woodworker,” he said dryly, slowly, “I had not known you were a mender of monsters as well.”</p><p>The word monster stung her in the heart. </p><p>“You should rise and dress,” he smelled her skin, “we are meeting Regis in the common room soon.” </p><p> </p><p>Emiel Regis had scouted the island and returned to the Inn before sunrise. He’d spent part of the morning in his room reading, then made his way to where they all had dinner the night before. Catching Jon before he left for Ard Skellig, gave him a letter he quickly penned for Rin informing her of Isteţime’s physical...<em> state. </em></p><p>If the blacksmith read it he would be abhorred. </p><p>Whilst waiting in the common room, watching the sunlight begin trickling in through the windows, the vampire barber-surgeon felt that his blood brother had suddenly felt a wave of emotion. Possessive, protective, wild emotion. </p><p>Then, upon hearing their door creak down the hallway, <em> smelled </em> her. He retrieved his notebook and began documenting the phenomenon. He watched the two make their way into the common room. Dettlaff moved differently when he was around the woman, he thought. He was lighter. He went back to his notes. </p><p> </p><p>“Regis,” Dettlaff stood at his chair, peering down. Isteţime trailed her partner, reaching the table and when she sat, he left for the counter. </p><p>“Eira,” Regis smiled, nodding his head to her across the table. It seemed to Isteţime that he was actually happy to see her. “How are you feeling this morning, my dear?”</p><p>“I think I might <em> be </em> feeling it,” she lifted her brows. </p><p>“If you don’t mind my asking,” his hand went to his notebook, opening it, “what in fact <em> are </em> the symptoms you’re experiencing?”</p><p>“Leave her be for now, Regis,” Dettlaff set a bowl of plain gruel in front of her, sitting beside her as closely as she thought possible, “let her try to eat.”</p><p>“So nausea,” Regis penned. His attention turned towards his blood brother, “and for you,” the nib scratched the parchment, “mate guarding…”</p><p>Dettlaff stared at Regis until he noticed. </p><p>Isteţime took a bite of her gruel and found that it was agreeable as Regis went on to defend himself.</p><p>“Obviously mate guarding in this case for Eira’s physical fitness and well being...not sexual <em> jealousy,” </em>he laughed, waving his hand at his blood brother dismissively as he continued jotting. </p><p>Taking another bite of the nourishing mush, she sighed at the full feeling beginning to grow in her stomach, easing her hunger. She noticed Dettlaff observing her from the corner of her eye. </p><p>“Mate?” He breathed, barely audible.</p><p>Regis looked up from his notebook, brows furrowed. “Why, what else would you two be?”</p><p>Dettlaff stopped staring at her. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>After having left the Inn, Regis led them out on a road heading northeast out of Urialla. The day <em> was </em> cold, and Isteţime was herself wrapped not only in her shawl and wolf coat but had, against her insistence to the contrary, been made to wear by Dettlaff one of his tunics and a pair of gloves. They surprisingly had the fingers still on them. </p><p>He informed her somewhat embarrassedly that many of at least <em> his </em> gloves started out <em> with the fingers attached. </em> Isteţime recalled what he had said about his ability to become angry, but also knew that he, at least since Beauclair and save for a few times on Ard Skellig, had issues with stopping himself from transforming at the smallest excitement or sign of danger to her.  </p><p>Either way, the gloves drowned her hands and threatened to slide off persistently. </p><p>“How much longer is it, Regis?” Dettlaff looked out onto the sea from the road, which was easy to view as the road ascended up a rather steep cliff. </p><p>“She takes up a small residence near Castle Tuirseach and Yngvar’s Fang,” Regis called back, spending the extra time it took for Isteţime to keep pace by wandering on and off the road collecting various plant matter and stuffing it into his satchel, “if that means anything to you.”<br/>
“It doesn’t,” Dettlaff frowned. “Tell me, Regis, does she drink?”</p><p>Bushes ahead of Isteţime rustled where the barber-surgeon ducked into them.</p><p>“I doubt you’re interested in whether or not she enjoys my mandrake hooch,” the bush with Regis’ voice cackled, before his head popped up, “but no, she doesn’t drink blood.” He approached the road, clapping his hands together, “least she wasn’t last I spoke with her.” </p><p>Dettlaff’s grip on his partner’s hand tightened. “Hm.”</p><p>Regis looked back at the two of them climbing at a snail’s pace. He twisted the hair of his right temple betwixt his thumb and forefinger before clearing his throat, “you know, unless Eira is opposed to it, Dettlaff, you could always <em> carry her </em> up this incline.” </p><p>The black haired man looked at the woman struggling with her pride. She sighed. </p><p>“Oh <em> alright,” </em> Isteţime blew her silver hair out of her eyes and her arms shot out in front of her, “take me. I know you’ve been considering it since the path forked some time ago.” </p><p>The vampire smiled at her crookedly, her face partially and to him <em> adorably </em> skewed by the snout of the wolf’s head, before he swiftly swooped her up and planted a kiss on her cheek as he did it.</p><p>“Thank you,” he rumbled quietly in her ear. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Still tired,” she rested her head on his large chest, “nervous. You?”</p><p>His brows knit and a frown formed on his face. He held the woman closer and picked up his pace. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Up the cliffside on the northern end of An Skellig, an out of breath man was rapping on the door to a petite and well maintained cabin made entirely out of island hardwood. A grumbling to oneself on the opposite end of the barricade could be heard growing louder, and the man adjusted his weight so that he was no longer, in faux nonchalance, leaning against the timbre frame. The door flew open shortly afterwards, barely missing the bulb of his nose, to expose a disgruntled bruxa woman standing on the inside. </p><p>Her expression appeared to indicate that she was, as the nautical locals would describe it, <em>on her beam’s end.</em> The man took a step back. He was currently, phrased again in the local patois, <em>stuck</em> <em>between the devil and the deep blue sea. </em></p><p>“Ava,” he panted, she crossed her arms. </p><p>“I’m going to stop you right there, Skjall,” she leaned on the doorway, “do you have any idea what time it is?”</p><p>Breathing heavy, Skjall looked around the sky in confusion before rolling his eyes, then threw up his arms. “Ava,” he groaned with childish flare, “this is <em> important, </em> I came here all the way from-”</p><p>“Hindarsfjall.” She leaned forward, “I know where you hail from, <em> Skjall.” </em></p><p>“Then you know this is about Thove,” the man paced, “the man’s gone mad about your...peculiarities-”</p><p>“Favorably put,” she nodded once, impressed, watching the man make circles in the snowy pine needles in front of her house.</p><p>“He’s involved the druids, Ava! I o’erheard him spinning his codswallop to one last night outside the sauna!” </p><p>This caught the woman’s attention and she frowned. “I do admit I believed Sigrdrifa would have put him in his place before word started to travel.” She stepped forward, closing her door behind her. “He hasn’t involved that hierophant, has he?”</p><p>“Ermion? It’s in the offing I tell you, the druid he spoke to says he’s getting underway to Ard Skellig tomorrow. Ava, I’d cut and run were I you.” </p><p>“I thought it would have been easier for them to simply blame this all on a load of homicidal elves, but no,” she sighed, “it always has to be…”</p><p>Her attention traveled beyond Skjall to the sound of a branch snapping. Through the trees she saw two shapes...three people approaching. The second carrying the third. </p><p>“...Me.”</p><p>“Ava?” Skjall looked around, but she caught him by the collar.</p><p>“Get out of here.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Now, Skjall.” She pushed him down the path, getting him started back towards Urialla. “Make haste. I shall reward you for your word before the daisies sprout.” She watched him disappear over the lip of the hill. </p><p>She lost sight of the second figure, and approaching was a man with dark hair carrying a very lengthy woman with pearl-silver hair. She could tell the man’s nature by his scent. </p><p>“That’s close enough, hear,” she called. “State your business.” </p><p>The man in the dark coat with the dark hair stopped, turning his attention towards a bush.</p><p>“Aha!” An older gentleman’s head popped out of it, examining a leaf he held above his head, “there you are.”</p><p>“Emiel?” Ava smiled as the vampire straightened himself. He approached her with familiarity and a hug, “Regis, what are you doing here?”</p><p>“Ah,” he smiled, “I need you to see to my friend’s mate. She is ill, and we’ve recently observed with his child.” </p><p>The bruxa’s eyes widened, “<em> his </em> child?”</p><p>Regis nodded. Dettlaff peered at the woman standing before her cabin and felt the fragile body in his arms. He did not like this situation one bit. </p><p>She sighed, “Fine. Alright, alright,” and ushered them all inside. </p><p>Once in the cabin Regis gave proper introductions and informed Ava of Isteţime’s condition- Ava replying with the proper nods at the proper times. Afterwards she asked to see the woman in private.</p><p>“I will not allow it,” Dettlaff huffed, standing beside Isteţime who sat upright on the bed. </p><p>“Dettlaff,” the silver haired woman sighed, placing a hand on his forearm, “it will be fine.” She smiled at the bruxa, “I trust her.” </p><p>Ava cocked her head at the woman, then nodded in approval. This all came as a surprise to Dettlaff, and he suppressed a growl. “Isteţime I do not think it wise,”</p><p>“Friend,” Regis pat him on his shoulder before gripping it, “you have to respect young Eira’s decisions. We’ll be right outside.”</p><p>The bruxa took a noticeable step away from Dettlaff as he crossed to the door.</p><p>After what seemed like an eternity for the already very old higher vampire, Ava walked out of her cabin and sat on the log bench she kept beside its northern wall, next to Regis, who was reading his notes. She peered up at the brooding and intimidating man standing before her.</p><p>“Well?” Dettlaff asked, looking at the cabin. </p><p>Ava smirked at him, “you are quite the specimen, Mister Van der Eretein. I hardly believed it, considering how rare these circumstances are. Yet,” she shook her head. “The woman smells like she’s close to death.” </p><p>Dettlaff froze.</p><p>“But that she is veering away from it, rather than towards it. I must admit that this pregnancy might actually be good for the human. It’s obvious your...genetic coding is having an effect on her body.”</p><p>Regis’ brows raised. He quickly retrieved an inkwell and pen from his satchel. </p><p>“Affecting her?” Dettlaff sneered, “What do you mean by this?”</p><p>“I can’t be completely certain,” her cadence slowed as she watched Regis penning away at her every word, “but…” </p><p>“But?” </p><p>She brought her attention back to the large, anxious vampire, “but she absolutely reeks of you. Her blood smells of you.”</p><p>Dettlaff walked towards her, “What did you say?”</p><p><em> “Please,” </em> she raised her hands defensively, “I’ve successfully been exposed to blood without incident for nearly a century, so you can stop right there with that line of thought. Are all true higher vampire’s mate guarding instincts this severe?”</p><p>Dettlaff groaned. </p><p>“It would make sense to me that because the mate is human in this instance his protective instincts are heightened, due to her fragility,” Regis piped, nose in his notebook. </p><p>Ava blinked, pursing her lips and nodding her head this way and that, “A good theory.” </p><p>“I’ve had enough of this,” Dettlaff huffed, walking towards the cabin. </p><p>The bruxa waited for the sound of his coat sweeping round the corner. “He’s the one who can perform hypnosis, right?”</p><p>Regis stopped writing and peered at her from the corner of his eye, “what is it now, Ava?”</p><p>She glanced towards the side of her cabin, “I’ll tell you later.” </p><p>The doorknob jostled.</p><p>“There’s more,” Ava called, stopping the larger vampire where he stood. “Your mate informed me that you have been experiencing issues with….<em> transformation control, </em> correct?”</p><p>She waited moments before hearing his deep baritone, “Yes.”</p><p>“Tell me, Dettlaff,” Ava continued, “did your pack consist of one species of vampire?”</p><p>She heard his footfalls approaching, “What is this about, bruxa?” </p><p>“I rather like that human woman,” Ava was slipping into deep thought, “she treats me as though I am good.” She looked up at Dettlaff, “which is accurate.” </p><p>“My pack was of varying species,” he answered.</p><p>“And you drank her blood <em> after </em> you impregnated her,” she tapped her chin, eyes on the ground before her. </p><p>Regis looked up at his blood brother in surprise. “You drank <em>human</em> <em>blood?”</em> </p><p>“I was,” his voice was coarse and threatening, “overcome with emotion. It called me to. As if there were no other choice.”</p><p>“Are you planning to continue?” Ava asked. </p><p>“Continue what?” Dettlaff’s face was turning red. </p><p>“Reproducing with her?” The bruxa inquired matter-of-factly.</p><p>“I…” he looked to Regis, then around as if searching for help out of this conversation, “is that possible? For her?”</p><p>“I think it is absolutely possible,” she smiled, “but I have to warn you that I believe your sexual proclivity to <em> transform </em> has to do with your body’s desire for a more vampiric offspring.” </p><p>Dettlaff’s brows knit, “I do not care what they are,” he crossed his arms beneath his chest, “they are mine.”</p><p>Regis spared a glance at Ava. </p><p>“...Hers,” the dark haired vampire was looking at the cabin, now. The corner of his mouth twitched as if he could smile.</p><p>“Yes,” Ava looked away from Regis, “but vampiric offspring are hardier and will live longer.” She cocked her head, “Just how much <em> do </em> you know about your kind’s reproductive habits, darling?” She asked politely. </p><p>“I have never felt the need to,” he looked bewildered, “I had always a pack. They were my family, and Regis, my brother.” </p><p>Regis nodded to the woman about this, “it’s true. I myself never wanted to bring another vampire into this world. To what? Suffer among its inhabitants.” He swallowed, “I must say I find myself likewise in the dark on the subject.”</p><p>Ava took a deep breath, “well then.” </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Dettlaff had seen to it that Isteţime was back on Ard Skellig, and ensured that she and Regis were both set for the night in a house that had recently been occupied by bandits on the eastern shore of the island. It had a working fireplace, and he did not want Isteţime to travel further than she already had for the night in her condition. Regis, for once, agreed with him. It was best she not overexert herself. </p><p>“I didn’t know he could hypnotize people,” Isteţime admitted, cozied on a bed of furs before the crackling fire. Her voice had broken the quiet of the small room, and Regis looked up at her where he lounged on the hard sofa, putting down his book. </p><p>“I myself wasn’t aware of it for a very long time. He rarely uses it,” he assessed the ceiling then, squinting. “I believe it makes him uncomfortable.” </p><p>This information made her mouth curl ever so slightly. It would make her uncomfortable, too. </p><p>“I doubt he’s ever used it for anything as arduous as having an old drunkard admit to an entire island’s populace that he’s been lying about the kind woman living on An Skellig,” he snorted, and Isteţime had to laugh.</p><p>“He’ll do great all the same,” she smiled, “I’m sure of it.”</p><p>“Though perhaps he’ll start using it to get your little pups to eat their vegetables, or to listen to their mother,” Regis mused, “once they arrive.” </p><p>“Pups?” Isteţime turned away from the fire to assess the vampire, then. He gave her an understanding look. </p><p>“Ah, it’s merely an old habit. A term for us interchangeable with child. I’m sure your baby will be born exactly that...<em> a baby.” </em> </p><p>“No,” Isteţime’s brow furrowed, “thank you. No, I meant that you’re implying there will be more than one?”</p><p>“Oh,” if she didn’t know any better, she’d think the kindly vampire man was <em> blushing, </em> “yes, that.”</p><p>“You think everything will work out, then?” She pulled her blanket further over her shoulders. “Dettlaff was quiet the entire boat ride back.”</p><p>Regis nodded, “in point of fact, I do. Ava does as well.”</p><p>He stared into the fire for a few moments. </p><p>“I also believe it is likely that Dettlaff will want more than just one, once he has one.” He became pensive, “that is unless of course your body is incapable of carrying more than one. Despite how acutely our mating instincts grow once triggered, I very much doubt he would put you in danger. He seems…”</p><p>The vampire trailed off, and she ducked her head towards his line of sight, “yes? He seems?”</p><p>“Attached to you.” He pinched his brows, “How in-depth does your teratology course dive into vampire mating?”</p><p>“How did you…” she shook her head, “not far, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Yes, well,” He sighed, “that put us both as well educated on the matter as the other. Ava, bless her goodwill, has explained quite a bit to us today. She wanted you to have this, and asked that I lend it to you surreptitiously.” He went into his satchel, grabbing a leather bound book and handing it to her. It didn’t have a title or text on the cover. She took it, and opened it. Regis laid back, “I nearly forgot.” </p><p>The inside of the cover read <em> Reproductive Methods and Behavioral Patterns in Post Conjunction Vampires. </em></p><p>“Why surreptitiously?” Isteţime asked. </p><p>Regis pursed his lips, “Dettlaff might not want you to know everything in it. Still, he could try to prevent you from having it, but Ava is smart enough to know he could never <em> take </em> something from you.” He briefly closed one eye, “I <em> have </em> known, however, well, that it’s rather obvious you’re his mate, which is why I was before so opposed to the situation.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“It’s nothing against you, my dear,” Regis sat up, “in fact hearing Dandelion’s explanation of you is what persuaded me to give. But, you <em> are </em> quite sick...or rather, <em> were </em> quite sick, and losing one’s mate is a sort of, traumatic experience, to say the least. Beauclair, for instance.” </p><p>She swallowed, “right.”</p><p>“Fair to say, however, that Syanna never truly was his mate, though he believed her to be,” he quickly added, thinking that this would make the woman feel better. He was not expecting, then, her <em> actual </em> reaction- which was that her expression had become unimaginably sad. Sad for his friend. </p><p>Regis admired that compassion. </p><p>“May I be candid, dear Eira?”</p><p>She looked up from where she was moving her hands under the fur blankets to his face, which was stoic. “Yes Regis, you may.”</p><p>“You are proving to be,” he smiled, “an exceedingly lovely human being, and I do hope you achieve your dreams of becoming a master woodworker.” </p><p>Isteţime blushed, “thank you.” </p><p>“It’s a relief that you’re his mate, honestly,” he breathed.</p><p>“Regis,” her voice was quiet, and he saw that she was back to staring at the fireplace. </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Has he ever had children before? Of his own?”</p><p>He squinted, “No. I did not believe so, and he confirmed it today.” </p><p>“Regis,” Isteţime’s voice was quieter this time.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Have...<em> you </em> ever had children before?”</p><p>The vampire rolled on the couch to better see her. “No, Eira. I have not, nor would I ever want to.”</p><p><em> Thud - </em> the cabin shook, then. From outside the window, the woman could make out a very large, dark shape and ran to the door. </p><p>“Eira, I wouldn-” Regis’ voice dropped as she ran from the cabin. </p><p>Isteţime darted outside into the cold air, “Dettlaff?” The large, dark shape was disappearing into the line of trees and before she could chase it, was gripped by her aubergine shawl, then by the wrist and steadied by Regis. </p><p>“What was that?” She panted.</p><p>“Come inside, Eira,” he began pulling her back towards the cabin </p><p>“It looked like <em> fur, </em> Regis. What was that?”</p><p>“Honestly,” he tugged her the rest of the way inside and shut the door, crossing his arms at her, “what <em> do </em> they teach you at that school?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” She knit her brows, running a hand through the part of her silvery hair. Regis stepped in front of the window to block her view.</p><p>“I mean that some true higher vampires can transform.” </p><p>“I know that, Regis.”</p><p>“Into giant <em> bats.” </em></p><p>Isteţime’s eyes went wide. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, suddenly. “Beg your pardon?”</p><p>Her hands fell from her shawl, then. Regis nodded his head, “Yes. You heard correctly.” </p><p>“The…<em> my, </em> wait. The father of,” she took a breath, “a <em> bat?” </em></p><p>“Yes.” Regis nodded.</p><p>“Giant?” She squinted at him.</p><p>“Huge, really.” </p><p>“How big is huge?” She asked.</p><p>“Larger than big,” he bit his lip, becoming amused. “Seven and a half or eight feet tall. Reasonable. I hope this doesn’t change your feelings about the man.” </p><p>“I,” Isteţime shooker head, giving Regis an indignant look, “of <em> course </em> it doesn’t I, well… Well, I wasn’t expecting it,” he re-stepped in front of her attempts to peer out the window, giving her a <em> tsking </em> look, “I...how long does it take for him to transform? Is it safe for him to have flown here?”</p><p>She started looking worried, and Regis was overcome with appreciation. “My, you truly are a relief, Eira,” he chuckled, before taking the side of her arms in his hands, “I’m sure he thoroughly assessed the situation. He has a mate, now, after all. And a baby on the way.”<br/>
“A pup,” she swallowed, still actively stopping herself from walking right back outside. She began hearing the oddest noise, and gasped. </p><p>Regis laughed at her paling face, “it’s fine, Eira. He’s simply transforming back.”</p><p>“I want to see it,” she said eagerly.</p><p>“Well <em> he </em> might not want <em> you </em> to.” He gave her a stern look. “His past human relationships have not welcomed his differences. His vampiric traits.”</p><p>“Oh,” she pouted, feeling her stomach drop some. She went and sat back down on the furs, wrapping herself under one of them. “I wonder how soft <em> his </em> fur is,” she faintly wondered to herself. </p><p>Regis laid back on the hard couch, “rather soft.” </p><p> </p><p>A few moments later the door burst open, and cold wind smelling of the ocean came flooding into the room. </p><p>“I heard you explained what I was doing outside,” Dettlaff turned and shut the door and remained facing it. Isteţime could see that his shoulders were rising and falling, breathing deeply.</p><p>“So,” Regis smiled, “how did it <em> go?” </em></p><p>Dettlaff had his hand on the door yet, “The cryer of Hindarsfjall will no longer be seen as credible.”</p><p>“Ah,” he chuckled, “good.”</p><p>“Isteţime?” Dettlaff’s voice was quiet. Regis took one look at him and, appearing as if he were about to say something, simply disappeared into navy smoke and exited the room. </p><p>The woman stared at her partner’s broad back, his narrower waist, the roundness of him at his hips. </p><p>“What is it?” She fret and began to stand, fearing something was terribly wrong, “Dettlaff?”</p><p>Then, she remembered what Regis said to her. She briskly walked to him and turned him around. His icy blue eyes peered down at her, then flickered away. He was completely stony. </p><p>There was something in his face that made her smile. There was <em> always </em> something in his face to make her smile. <em> A bat, </em> she thought. Dettlaff’s forehead became tighter, it looked like he was preparing to attack something before a small laugh burst out of the woman and he looked at her. </p><p>“Why are you <em> laughing?” </em> His eyes narrowed, and the woman buckled over.</p><p>“A <em> bat,” </em> she giggled. Her face for a moment turned up towards his, and when she looked directly at him, to his great relief, he saw that her eyes lit up in happiness. Then, she buckled over again. </p><p>Dettlaff growled, and swooped her off the floor, sitting on the sofa. He watched the woman giggle, her eyes covered by her hand as she did.</p><p>“You are laughing at me,” he cocked his head. </p><p>“Yes,” she breathed, “I mean no.”</p><p>“You are.” </p><p>“I want to see your fur,” she put her hand to her mouth, but Dettlaff could tell by the way she shook that she was still laughing at him, “and your cute little ears.”</p><p>“They are quite burly,” he blushed. </p><p>The way the woman was looking at him put him at ease. Her face was kind and loving. </p><p>“Does this mean,” he took a breath, closing his eyes, “that you are not disgusted by it?”</p><p>“Dettlaff,” she held his face, “I’m fascinated by it.” </p><p>She watched one of his eyes open and peer at her. Slowly, he allowed the other to open as well. </p><p>“But you do not actually want to see me in…”</p><p>Isteţime’s eyes widened, she could barely believe he was going on about this, “I assure you I <em> do </em> actually want to see you in that form, sir. Sir woodcarving master,” she began sitting up in his lap, “Oh love of mine,” Dettlaff started blushing. </p><p>“Enough,” he held her to him, “enough for now, I...this is overwhelming for me, Isteţime.”</p><p>“When we return, will you?” She pleaded. “Show me?”</p><p>He searched her green-hazel eyes and, picking her up, took her back to the furs and laid her down. “Yes.”</p><p>“Good,” she snuggled beneath the blankets and called, “Regis!”</p><p>His head popped out from the only other room of the cabin, “yes? All clear?”</p><p>“Hm,” Dettlaff grumbled as Regis, who obviously had heard the entire conversation, walked back in and reclaimed the sofa, picking up his book as Dettlaff sat behind his new mate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Skjall lives in this fic haha. I liked him too much and I felt so bad when he died, then when Geralt and Yennefer disturbed him later :/ </p><p>Dettlaff doesn't change into that eyeless form in this! I think that happened because he was so immensely distressed? Instead he transforms into what I always imagined would have been a regular bat form, like Regis. Only of course his fur is black and it grays at his temples ToT. Are there more areas it should be gray that are cute?</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. -</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Received a request for Isteţime getting a case of the giggles over the thought of Dettlaff in his bat form, Dettlaff not understanding it, and Regis spying on them all the while! Made it a little differently for time, but it's still pretty cute.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much, Suomi! This was a lot of fun to make!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Update</h2></a>
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    <p>Happy almost spring, y'all!</p><p> </p><p>So I am in the middle of taking a break and will keep doing so for at least another month. For two reasons..</p><p>Work. I'm a farm manager (it's a really cute little picturesque number with ducks, chickens, and two farm cats). It's planting season currently so I am swamped tilling the ground and putting the baby plants I grew into the dirt, seeding to make more plants, and I somehow became the videographer of the place 😅.  I'm working on art, too. My tumblr for that is Thememack &amp; my reblog/personalish tumblr is mackallackattack. I pretty much exclusively make Dettlaff and Regis art because I am still obsessed, if you are in need.</p><p>Art is really all I can offer creatively right now because of the second reason...</p><p> </p><p>Which is Burnout :/.</p><p>I wrote around 400k words of Dettlaff in 2020, which is around 400k more than I wrote from 2013-2019, and I noticed in October that I was starting to really get down on myself for everything I wrote, and the plans I had for this fic were no longer OK with me. I was being incredibly mean to myself about it. Sincerely thought every chapter I posted was bad and that I was dragging anyone who read it through the mud, even if I was spending my entire weekends writing and revising. I deleted so much work from September to December that I'd rather not recall in any semblance of detail. I'd get home Friday and write until 10 pm Monday, and then quick read through it and edit until 2am. I wasn't really taking care of myself in that aspect. Worse yet, it turns out that I kind of want to write the same dang trope over and over again (which I <em>actually</em> think is dandy but a few months ago I was kicking my own butt about it). I needed a break from it, because I was hitting a wall. </p><p>Paramount to the latter, I earnestly believe that I wrote everything I had bottled up in me from a few years of not expressing myself. I had so much to say, evidently, but then it dwindled to feeling contrived. I think for the time being I need to live a little more life in order to bring more to this story. I love writing and I regard these fics like family, to be honest, because they've given me a lot and I desperately don't want to ruin that for me or them for you.</p><p> </p><p>So, I am hoping to get back to writing mid to late March. Tried writing today but don't think I'm ready, and don't want to keep trying if it pushes back when I might be ready. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Lastly, I am so sorry that this is not the chapter you were looking forward to. If I could have, I would have taken us on an adventure. :'/ &lt;3 </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
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